Screams and Memories

🎭 The Storyteller Speaks: Of Clans and Carnivals Some nights, the carnival lights don’t just flicker—they leave a searing afterimage behind my eyelids. The music echoes long after the amps go quiet. The scent of popcorn and cigarettes lingers in my jacket. And when I wake... it’s not just with blood on my tongue or sand in my shoes. It’s the knowing. That I was there. Or maybe... that I still am. 🫣 Tonight, she returned—Nyra. Shadows spilled from the corners of the room like spilled ink as she stepped forward. Her voice? Silk wrapped in secrets. > “You’re improving,” she said, one hand still resting on the cursed necklace. “I need you to keep going.” I blinked. “Why?” > “Because my clan needs help. And so do I.” My heart stalled for a moment, then thumped harder than it should’ve. Her eyes glowed faint crimson in the dark. > “What clan?” I asked. > “The Nightbourne. I’m of the Crimson Veil.” 🩸🌒 > “And me?” I croaked. “What… what am I?” She tilted her head...

The Storyteller Speaks: Let the Woods Claim Me Change is painful. That’s the lie we tell ourselves. Change is terrifying. That part’s true. But when you give in to it—when you let the woods take you— you begin to feel something else: Belonging. Purpose. Maybe even freedom. The Nightly Storyteller isn’t fighting it anymore. --- The Chronicles Begin He was training again—Nyra smirking with every failed incantation, the Clerk adjusting his stance with silent, exacting precision. His body aches in ways it never did before, but he’s faster now. Sharper. The change is happening, and for once… he’s not resisting. He catches his reflection in a rusted blade. It doesn’t frighten him anymore. He wants this. Then the phone buzzes. > “She’s not answering. I haven’t heard from her since the day she left.” Val. The name cuts a cold groove down his spine. He looks up at Nyra, worry darkening his eyes. > “Neither of us has gotten through to her.” Nyra chuckles, eyes on her book. >...