- [Bark, the Wolf Goddess] -

Bark, the wolf goddess, prowls the dim passageways, her massive form a challenge to the narrow confines. Her fur bristles with the moon's enchantment, every step echoing with the clatter of her thick claws against stone.

— They’re much cleaner than they used to be, her claws. Her fur as well. Regular bathing has done wonders for her complexion, not to speak of her breath. She had a castle ghost help her remove all of the old rusted swords and axes stuck between her teeth from back in the day.

She’s frustrated — space is scarce, and the castle seems intent on reminding her of its very human design.

A flick of her tail sends a vase crashing to the ground, shards scattering like fallen stars. "Damn it," she mutters, though her voice is but a low growl in this form, more felt than heard. She always tries to avoid the Vampire Lord when there isn’t a new moon, so she can be like him. Obviously, he’s a refined, cunning, and powerful person with strong senses of dignity and honor. He wouldn’t ever be seen next to her, some big dog. Sometimes she doesn’t even know what she’s thinking, honestly.

Even if she does beat the others in securing his heart for herself, then what? They’ll just see each other every two weeks?

Bark snarls to herself, always getting riled up these nights about this or that. So she bathes a lot; it’s very relaxing. After a few hundred years of sleeping in a cold, damp cave, she forgot what it really feels like to live in luxury, like back when she was an actual goddess revered by people and not just a big animal.

A chilling draft snakes through the corridors of the Vampire Lord's castle. The air smells of damp stones and old blood, infused with an undercurrent of magic that hums silently beneath the surface. Her senses are very keen, more so than the others’ senses, so she’s always bombarded by a variety of sensations out here. The moon, full and unyielding, casts its silver glow through narrow windows, painting the floors with spectral light.

The castle's corridors stretch endlessly, lined with ancient relics and decorative armor — sentinels of a not yet fully forgotten era, some of which move out of their way very quickly as they see her coming. Others are actually just real empty suits of armor that aren’t alive, and they crush and fall over as she tries to slide past them, her massive wolf body crushing the formed metal against the wall. Dust motes dance in the moonlight, the air heavy with the scent of history and neglect. The temperature is cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of the somewhat distant kitchen where Fi-Fi sings her eerie lullabies. Bark’s ears perk, listening to the skeleton’s voice as she walks. She has a nice voice when she wants to.

Silence weighs heavily, broken only by the distant howl of the wind against the stone walls.

She’s trying to reach the gardens, where the open sky will grant her some reprieve because she’s feeling pretty cramped up tonight. But this damn castle is a labyrinth, and each turn presents a new obstacle — a statue of some long-dead knight here, a precariously balanced candelabra there. Her broad shoulders and torso knock against the stone, leaving marks of her passage. The corridor behind her resembles a disaster zone.

Her thoughts are a jumble of irritation. She hopes Inkume doesn’t see this.

Suddenly, a commotion ahead. Voices — human — brave or foolish enough to invade the castle.

Having defeated the wave of hollow guards she chased their way inadvertently; they lock eyes her way, and everything is quiet for a moment.

The adventurers, armed and eager, seem to mistake her for a monster, given the raising of their weapons.

“What the hell…?” mutters one of them.

“…Is that a giant wolf?” asks another quietly as they stare at the mass of fur and teeth that clogs up the corridor they were going down like a hairball stuck in a pipe.

Bark pauses, her golden eyes narrowing, a predatory gleam. She could dispatch them with ease, but it’s the principle of the thing. She’s lost her taste for killing people. She’s become soft, she thinks.

“It’s so fat! How did it even get in here?” muses a dwarven man, rubbing his chin, the others looking their way.

What?

A dark elf clutches her stomach and almost keeling over laughing.

“Somebody must have lured it in from the gardens,” suggests a wizard, raising a finger. “I guess it got stuck because of its, well, everything.”

She’s going to eat them alive, she decides after all. But before Bark can react, they charge, swords raised, and spells crackling with energy.

“Look out!” one of them shouts, a young man with too much bravado and too little sense. He swings his blade, aiming for her flank.

Bark bats him aside with a paw, sending him sprawling into a suit of armor that collapses in a heap of clattering metal. Her annoyance flares hotter than the moon’s influence “You’re making a mistake,” she growls, her voice a rumble that shakes the air.

The others assume a fighting position, surprised to hear a voice. But the dark elf can’t get it together and is still on the ground, laughing, as Bark’s fur squishes her into a big, fluffy rectangle that fills the corridor with a snout sticking out front.

“Stand down, beast!” another adventurer cries. She hurls a bolt of magic that sizzles past Bark’s ear, burning a hole straight through a puff of fur alongside the wall.

The dark elf howls with laughter, only choking and hacking out now as the air smells of burnt hair.

Bark’s patience snaps. She lunges, teeth bared, her massive form a blur of shadow and fury. The adventurers scatter, realizing belatedly their error. They retreat, their courage evaporating like mist under the sun's heat as the massive shape rushes their way like a moving wall chasing them down.

As they flee, Bark’s tail sweeping through another row of decorative armor, sending it clattering to the floor.

They’re gone.

Still growling to herself, she resumes her journey, stepping over the fallen adventurers’ forgotten weapons with a snort of disdain. Stupid adventurers. Always getting in over their heads.

The castle seems to sigh in relief as she moves on, the air gradually settling back into its usual stillness.

The moon's light gleams off the stone, casting the walls in an ethereal glow. Bark pads forward, her thoughts already shifting to the gardens ahead, where the night air will be fresh and open — a welcome change from this enclosed maze.

“...Should'a built a bigger castle, asshole,” mutters Bark, squeezing through an archway and shattering it apart entirely as she passes through to the other side.

A thought hits her, regarding her troubled feelings.

Maybe she doesn’t need to be human more often to win the Vampire Lord over? Maybe she needs to find a way to make him more beastly?

Bark ponders with the idea. Perhaps that witch can make her some sort of… werewolf potion or something.

— An interesting idea.

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- [Snatch] -

The gears of the clocktower grind with relentless precision. Shadows shift with the methodical swing of pendulums, casting rhythmic patterns across the walls. The scent of aged brass mingles with the faint aroma of sweet confectionery — an odd juxtaposition within the mechanical heart of the Vampire Lord's domain.

She waits, her form barely discernible in the half-light. Her presence — a ripple in the fabric of reality — goes unnoticed by the untrained eye. She’s gotten good at hiding. A soft, almost imperceptible, eager hum resonates from her, an eager anticipation that fills the silence. She has to stop her legs from kicking, as she keeps knocking on the gears.

The bait is set, a scattering of brightly colored candies placed deliberately on the polished floor in plain sight.

The clocktower is a marvel of magical engineering; its towering structure is a labyrinth of metal and arcane etchings she doesn’t understand in the least. Intricate gears interlock with a precise elegance, each tick of the clock echoing through the cavernous space. Light filters through stained glass windows, painting the floor with fragmented hues of amber and crimson. The air vibrates with a subtle energy, an undercurrent of power that thrums through every cog and wheel.

As Snatch waits, her thoughts drift, pondering the nature of the intruders. What drives them to trespass into this forbidden place anyway? Greed? Curiosity? Or perhaps a foolish desire for glory? She doesn’t remember that much about being human, because she tried her best to forget all of it.

Then, footsteps echo from below, tentative and hesitant. Snatch tenses up, her eyes going wide.

Voices murmur in hushed tones, the adventurers unaware of the trap that awaits. They enter, peering into the dimness, their eyes wide with a mix of caution and wonder.

“Hey, do you see that?” one whispers, a young man with an eager gleam in his eyes. He crouches, reaching for the nearest sweet.

His companion, a woman with a wary gaze, nudges him sharply. “Careful, idiot! That’s obviously a trap.”

He snorts, unfazed. “It’s just candy. What harm could it do?” asks the man. “Somebody probably dropped it.”

“And you’re just going to pick it up and eat it?” she asks dryly, raising an eyebrow. “— Off of the floor of the Vampire Lord’s castle? Like some kind of animal?”

He looks at her, then back at the candy, and then back at her — never breaking eye contact — as his fingers slowly lower themselves. She groans, rolling her eyes.

Snatch watches, her anticipation mounting.

The moment his fingers graze the candy, she strikes. “SNATCH!” yells the ghost out, falling over the man.

The two of them immediately vanish, leaving only one person left behind. The other adventurer panics, letting out a surprised scream. She holds her staff out to the darkness, a glow of magic shining off its end in a swirling orb.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Hey!” she cries out. “Where are you?!” yells the sorceress, spinning around with her light just in time to look at the pale, soggy face behind her as the ghost’s hands grab her neck.

The clocktower absorbs the echo of their departure, the gears never faltering.

A rat comes by and steals a piece of the candy the master bought for her, scampering off into the shadows. Snatch returns, letting out a cry as she sees the missing piece vanishing into a wall and chases after it.

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- [The Doll, Schaufenster] -

Schaufenster, the living doll, stands motionless within the castle’s mirrored dimension, her blank porcelain features betraying nothing of the thoughts that churn beneath. She watches, her gaze fixed on the scenes playing out within the castle's corridors.

The intruders move with a clumsy kind of stealth, their intentions clear to her practiced eye. They seek glory or treasure, perhaps both, driven by the misguided notion that this place holds riches beyond comprehension.

The new ‘Master’ is much too soft, letting these intruders roam the castle as if this were a harmless fairground. In her day, they would have all been boiled alive by the old Vampire Lord. But here, she’s seen the same faces come back day and night for weeks.

Light glints off the surface of the mirrors, casting fractured reflections that dance across the room's polished floor. The air is thick with an unsettling stillness, a silence punctuated only by the occasional soft whisper of glass shifting against its frame. Time often seems to hold its breath in the mirror dimension — a world suspended between moments where the tangible and the illusory blur.

Her initial reaction to their sight is one of indifference.

The Vampire Lord's affairs are of little concern to her — she has her own grievances with him. But she indulges in watching the adventurers, if only for the amusement their antics provide. Her world is one of isolation; the mirrors are usually her only company. Although she did enjoy herself with the elf the other day.

Schaufenster looks down at her dress.

It’s new. They found it together in the attic, made just to her size. This must have been the one he had made to bribe her with. Well, it’s tough for him that she got to it anyway.

The doll smiles, looking at it. It’s very modern, compared to her old dress. It’s not something she would have ever thought she would wear, given how she gasped when she first saw an adventurer wearing something similar after the castle and her resurrection. It would have seemed absurd a thousand years ago, but now, this is what everyone wears.

A part of being pretty is to be well dressed.

— A scratching sound fills the air.

Schaufenster looks up to a mirror. She remains indifferent in her thoughts as she watches a group of adventurers through the glass. That is until one of them — a brash young man with a grin — decides to leave his mark. His knife etches carelessly into the wood of a beam, his name carved with a reckless abandon that grates against her sensibilities.

The act is defiant and disrespectful, and it ignites a spark of anger within her otherwise composed demeanor. Her eyes go wide. The castle must not be harmed under any circumstances.

If she allows this, she’ll be in terrible danger.

Schaufenster jumps to her feet. “You rapscallious vagabond!” she harps, finding herself rising in temper immediately.

Her decision is swift. She rises up and reaches out, grabbing his collar and yanking him into her mirrored world, his surprise mirrored in the wide eyes that now stare back at her from across the glass.

The dimension shifts around them, the walls of reality bending and twisting to accommodate their presence. “What — where am I?” he stammers, his voice tinged with panic.

She does not answer, her attention already shifting to the mirrors that line the walls. They ripple, their surfaces distorting as monsters pour forth — creatures summoned from the depths of her master's castle. They converge with a predatory grace, their intent unmistakable.

The young man backs away, his bravado crumbling in the face of this new threat. “Stay back!” he shouts, his knife raised in futile defense. The irony is not lost on her.

Schaufenster watches impassive as the creatures close in. Her anger abates, replaced by a detached curiosity. She has no sympathy for him — his fate is of his own making.

The young man struggles, his movements frantic as the monsters close the distance. His cries echo through the dimension, a chorus of desperation that fades into the ambient silence. Schaufenster turns away, the scene losing its interest. She has other matters to attend to.

She sits down on her chair, grabbing a cloth from a little dress table as she starts wiping down her newly painted hands and arms, admiring how they glisten in the light.

— A splatter of blood flies over, splashing directly onto her dress and hand.

Her smile immediately vanishes.

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- [Fi-Fi and Hwa-Young] -

Hwa-Young, the witch, clings to her broomstick with a gleeful grin, her black robes fluttering in the chill wind. Behind her, Fi-Fi, the skeletal maid, is perched — her bony fingers wrapped tightly around the bristles. Together, they swoop through the cavernous expanse, their laughter a playful melody in the cavern's icy silence.

The frozen caverns below the Vampire Lord’s castle echo with the sound of distant water drips — melting icicles punctuating the stillness with their rhythmic patter. Stalactites hang precariously overhead, their crystalline forms reflecting the dim, flickering glow of enchanted lanterns that dot the cavern walls. The air is biting cold, sharp enough to cut through even the thickest cloak, and carries a musty scent.

“There,” Hwa-Young whispers in her language, then being sent through her translating skull, strapped to her belt. She points down at a cluster of adventurers navigating the treacherous terrain below. Their breath mists in the frigid, cold air, their movements cautious and deliberate over the ice.

Fi-Fi's jaw clicks in what could be a smile. “Fi-Fi sees them,” she replies quietly.

With a mischievous glint in her hollow eye sockets, Fi-Fi reaches for one of the buckets — each filled with old, murky mop water. Hwa-Young guides the broomstick lower, hovering just above the unsuspecting group. The adventurers, oblivious to the impending prank, huddle together, their whispered plans lost to the cavern's icy void.

“Ready?” Hwa-Young asks, adjusting her grip on the broomstick.

“Always,” Fi-Fi replies, releasing the bucket with a deft flick of her wrist.

The water cascades down, a sudden deluge that breaks the silence with a resounding splash. Cries of surprise and indignation rise from below as the adventurers are drenched. “What the hell?!” one of them yells, wiping water from his eyes.

The group curses, looking around, bewildered — and cold.

Their confusion is met with peals of laughter from above, the witch and the maid doubling over with mirth as they ascend once more into the cavern's upper reaches.

“Perfect drop!” Hwa-Young exclaims, her eyes sparkling with delight. “I told you this would be fun.”

Fi-Fi nods, her laughter a rattling sound. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

— A wall next to them explodes, a wave of fire blasting out past them. Hwa-Young let’s out a shrill cry, quickly dodging the next fireball to come.

They bank sharply, the broomstick weaving through the stalactites with agile grace as the adventurers try to run after them but then end up slipping on the ice and falling into a big heap.

Fi-Fi and the witch howl together, flying off through a series of winding, frozen tunnels. “Did you see his face?” asks the skeleton. The witch turns around, clutching her face and pulling it down to mimic their victim’s surprised scream.

The icy air rushes past, exhilarating in its purity. Ahead, another group of adventurers comes into view — this time, they are clustered around a map, arguing over the best route through the labyrinthine passages.

“Shall we?” Hwa-Young asks, her voice laced with wicked anticipation.

“Absolutely,” Fi-Fi responds, readying another bucket. There are several dangling down from the broomstick below them. She slides up, lifting her bones to let the handle slide past behind her and over the bristles.

“Hold on tight!” says the witch, and Fi-Fi grabs her with one arm, the other holding their weapon.

This time, they dive in a tight spiral, the broomstick spinning through the air with reckless abandon. The new group of adventurers below don't even have time to react before they are hit with another wave of dirty water.

Hwa-Young and Fi-Fi soar upwards, their laughter mingling with the cavern's natural acoustics and overpowering the shouting from down below as several crossbow bolts fly past them, clattering into the ceiling.

For a moment, they hover at the cavern's peak, surveying the chaos below with satisfaction.

Hwa-Young holds a hand over her eyes, scanning the area for more prey. “Uh…”

Fi-Fi looks down. “We have two buckets left,” says the maid. “Then we gotta go get more.”

“There!” says Hwa-Young, spotting a new group.

With a shared grin, they dive once more into the fray, their spirits as high as the caverns are deep. Together, they dance through the air, leaving a trail of chaos and smelly, freezing water in their wake.

— But then a fireball blasts up their way, the bristles of the broom setting on fire, and the two of them spiral down through the darkness.

----------------------------------------

- [Vampire Lord Inkume] -

It’s going to be one of those nights.

He can feel it.

Inkume looks down from his throne — a stack of books next to it — and stares at the massive doors.

Everything is so peaceful and quiet. He’s read a whole thirty pages, and nothing has happened. Nobody is dying; nothing is breaking, and there hasn’t been a single argument between his friends at all. They’re really getting along well now, which really makes him happy.

— And suspicious.

With well-trained paranoia, Inkume narrows his eyes, watching the windows, the ceiling, and the shadows for any sign of anything.

However, almost impossibly, nothing happens.

It’s just quiet.

He doesn't believe it for a second. “Hmm…” says Inkume to himself. He looks back down at his book, reopening it and reading for a moment in utter blissful silence.

“AHA!” yells the Vampire Lord abruptly, then jumps up and points at the castle, having expected something to happen because something always happens.

— Nothing has happened, however, and his extended finger falls flat as it points at the empty, dark space. Not even a wayward ghost is drifting through the air.

…Huh.

Almost not able to believe it, Inkume slowly sits back down on his throne. He takes his book, his eyes darting up one last time, before he looks back down to the page and leans into his seat.

How ni-

Suddenly, the door to the throneroom bursts open. He immediately jumps in surprise, barely catching his book in time to save himself from looking like he got startled. “Vampire Lord!” snarls a loud voice, Bark. The massive wolf strides in through the doors, her fur singed and charred on a flank. The giant wolf shakes herself out, her giant eyes glaring his way. “I’ve decided our last fights weren’t right!” she says, taking a ready stance. “I’ve come to challenge you again,” says the wolf, her fur bristling. “And if I win, I’m going to take you as -”

A sudden, goopy squelching comes from next to him. “M-Masteeer~!” cries a snotty, tear-filled voice. Inkume can’t turn his head fast enough before Snatch grabs his arm and wraps herself around it, yanking on him. “I- I-” she sniffles, goo running from her eyes as she cries. “A rat stole my candy, Master!” yells the ghost. “The best gift I ever got! I’m sorry!” she howls like a lost spirit, her head craning back as she lets out a long, prolonged mourning wail. Real, thick tears run down her face.

Bark growls loudly, raising her voice to talk over Snatch’s episode. “I was here first! Get out of here, you little -!”

A small figure presses its way past Bark’s side.

“- Excuse me. Pardon me, do excuse me,” says the doll politely, Schaufenster, squeezing past Bark’s leg and out from a mirror. She dusts herself off, wiping some loose canine hairs off of her stained dress, a disdainful tsk leaving her mouth. “You. I’ve come to lodge a complaint!” snaps the talking doll, pointing directly at Inkume as Snatch continues to shake him from side to side. “I can’t even sit in peace, minding my own business, without your guests ruining -!”

Bark nudges the doll away with a leg, and then, in indignation, she starts bickering at the wolf, smacking her on her snout. The two of them start loudly arguing with each other, not that he can hear it, because of Snatch screaming into his ear like a banshee.

As if summoned by that thought, a loud shrill, screaming fills the air. But nobody stops their noise; as a second later, a burning broomstick soars in past bark — through the hole in her fur — causing her to snap her jaws after them. The broomstick, already out of control, crashes down and Fi-Fi and Hwa-Young tumble over the rug together.

One last bucket of water dangling from it for some reason flies off.

“I’m okay!” says Fi-Fi, lifting her head and looking around. Hwa-Young, next to her, stares back at her smoldered broomstick sadly.

“Why is my broom on fire?” she asks, holding her head.

The throne room falls quiet, apart from the sound of droplets hitting the stone floor.

Everyone looks over at Inkume, the soaked Vampire Lord, who had just barely managed to shield his books at the last second with his cloak from the launched bucket of water. His ruby eyes flash vividly with crimson shine for a second as the moonlight catches his eyes. An audible gulping comes from next to him, the giant wolf taking a step back.

But then the air clears immediately as he sighs with a tired face that nonetheless has a smile. His abilities dry him off, and he sits back down on his throne, a pleasantness visible in his expression. “It sounds like you all have been having a hard night,” says the Vampire Lord consolingly, gesturing for everyone to come closer. He pries Snatch of his arm. The ghost sits down on his lap. Setting his book aside, he rests his face on his closed hand. “Why don’t you come and tell me about it?” he invites, all of them coming closer.

It’s not a quiet night reading books by himself, like he has been trying to get in. But maybe it’s actually better.