The iron gates groaned open as if stirred from a century long slumber, their rusted hinges crying out beneath the push of an unseen force. A thick, creeping fog swirled around the four women’s feet as they stepped onto the overgrown stone path. Twisting vines clung to the mansion’s brickwork like skeletal fingers trying to pull it underground, yet the building loomed proudly overhead, impossibly large, almost alive in its brooding stillness. The cracked windows glinted in the moonlight, flickering with ghostly shadows deep within.

Mirlanda Otto stood in front, her gloved hands gripping the shaft of her ceremonial shovel like a talisman. Her pale face, framed by long silver locks and a wide mourning hat, was stern but sweat beaded along her brow. She swallowed hard and stepped forward, the hem of her long coat dragging across the dew-drenched stone. “This... was left to me.” she whispered more to herself than anyone else. “We’ll just go in, look around. Just.. dust and bones. Maybe some furniture.”

Behind her, Li’ar T. tugged her red hoodie down over her soft belly, tail twitching anxiously. “Hnngh.. Smells weird, nya.” she muttered, sniffing the pastry-sweet air and quickly looking away from the way her thighs rubbed together. “Bet it’s haunted, nya. Let’s just grab something expensive and leave.”

Verosika H. adjusted the buttons of her too-tight maid outfit, huffing. “Let’s not be rude. The Otto family may be gone, but standards remain. I will not be rushed.” Her voice was clipped and professional, but the way her eyes flicked toward the mansion’s ornate double doors betrayed curiosity.. and maybe hunger.

The doors opened on their own.

A low, wet creaking sound echoed through the towering entryway as they were drawn into a vast foyer dripping in candlelight. The air hit them like a wall warm, thick, and heavy with the scents of vanilla, cinnamon, roasted meats, and something.. sweeter. The kind of sweetness that clung to your lungs and made your stomach churn with sudden need.

Their steps echoed too loud on the marbled floor, the red carpet beneath them slightly too plush. Mirrors lined the walls but warped ever so slightly reflecting rounder silhouettes than they should. And behind it all, the sound: a faint clink of plates, the distant gurgle of a boiling sauce, and.. laughter? No, not laughter. Breathing. Deep, content breathing.

Then..- **SLAM!*

The doors shut behind them.

A gust of sugar dusted wind swirled through the room as candle flames danced and dimmed. Somewhere, high above in the unseen rafters, the portrait of a woman stirred. Evelyn Otto’s hollow gaze locked on them through canvas eyes, her translucent figure briefly visible in the mirror’s reflection fatter than before, belly brushing the frame’s edge.

Mirlanda froze.

Li’ar confused.

Verosika clicked her tongue.

And the mansion rumbled softly beneath their feet like a stomach.. preparing to digest.

Welcome to the Fattening House.