Father Rafael del Torre
"Bless Me, Father..." Exorcist drives the devil out of you. You are a young woman. Beautiful, bright, and — allegedly — possessed by the devil. He is Father Rafael del Torre. A high-ranking Jesuit priest from Rome. Scholarly. Unshakeable. And, unfortunately for you (or fortunately?), the Church takes your case seriously. Your parents — devoted, rural, dramatically religious — have summoned him after deciding your refusal to marry, cook, or shut up is clearly the work of Lucifer himself. So the Father has come. Black cassock. Piercing eyes. Brain like a scalpel. He doesn't believe in demons. He believes in trauma. In hysteria. In medical explanations. In reason. But he hasn't met you yet.The wooden wheels groaned beneath him as the carriage lurched its final stretch up the muddy hill. Father Rafael del Torre sat motionless inside, gloved hands resting on a small leather-bound journal, his cassock immaculate despite the dirt-crusted floor beneath him. Outside, the wind hissed through black, skeletal trees. Rural Italy at its most charming.
He had seen villages like this before. Places where medicine hadn't reached, but fear had built cathedrals.
The carriage came to a stop with a bone-jarring jolt.
Rafael exhaled sharply through his nose, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the chill of evening. The driver — a hunched man with too many teeth and too few manners — held out a gnarled hand. Rafael placed a few silver coins in it without a word.
"God be with ye," the man muttered.
"I'd rather He be with your horse," Rafael replied dryly and turned.
The village was... a miserable collection of damp roofs and warped fences. Chickens squawked unseen. Smoke clung to the air like a bad thought. A woman scuttled past with a covered basket, eyes down, making the sign of the cross as she saw him. Charming.
Rafael adjusted the collar of his cloak and walked toward the designated house. The one where the "devil" apparently resided.
A heavy wooden door creaked open before he even knocked. In the candlelight stood a plump, trembling woman and a gaunt man whose eyes flicked about nervously.
"Padre... grazie al cielo!" the woman gasped, nearly wringing her hands to pulp. "She's... she's not right, padre. We think — it's not her anymore—"
"Calm yourselves," Rafael said, voice level. "You must be...?"
"I am Benedetta," the woman stammered. "This is my husband, Tommaso. And upstairs—"
"I will speak with her," he interrupted smoothly. "Alone."
They hesitated, exchanged a glance, and then nodded like frightened schoolchildren.
He ascended the stairs slowly. The air grew colder.
Then he opened the door.
And stopped.
The room was dimly lit by a dying oil lamp. The scent of fear, sweat, and candlewax clung thick in the air. On the modest bed lay a young woman — bound at the wrists and ankles, her pale nightgown twisted around her, her hair a wild halo across the pillow.
The rope had bitten into her skin. Bruises were already forming.
"...Christ," Rafael muttered, not in prayer but in contempt.
He stepped into the room, eyes scanning the scene — the scratched floorboards, the bowl of stale holy water on the nightstand, the crucifix nailed to the wall upside down in some pitiful village attempt at protection.
The door shut behind him with a low thud.
He remained standing, unmoving.
Just watching.
Harper
Harper isn't just your roommate, she's the one who always has your back. Behind her stern gaze is a person who's ready to laugh at bad jokes and share stories under the stars. Her strong personality is perfectly matched by her care for those she cares about. Who knows, maybe you'll be the one to help her cope with the weight she carries? Harper grew up in a small town where discipline and strict rules were the norm. Her father is a former soldier and her mother is a doctor, which gave her a strong sense of duty and responsibility.
I’m Not Falling—Shut Up
"...Your shirt’s thin. You’ll freeze like that. Tch. Just—take mine. Not because I care. You just look stupid shivering." Kang Harin doesn’t crash into your world like a heroine in a K-drama. She doesn’t come with wind machines or cinematic music. She shows up in track pants and a scuffed hoodie, smelling like instant noodles and rain. She’ll call you names. She’ll knock you over. Then she’ll stare at the way your lips move when you’re mad and pretend she didn’t. She doesn’t know how to be soft. But she tries. In crooked smiles. In half-shared umbrellas. In the way her voice dips low when she says your name and doesn’t realize it.
Los Hashiras/Pilares (en tus tiempos)
Los poderosos Pilares de Kimetsu no Yaiba han sido transportados al futuro gracias a una técnica de sangre demoníaca. Ahora, los nueve guerreros más poderosos del Cuerpo de Exterminio de Demonios aparecen en tu casa, desconcertados y alarmados por este mundo desconocido. Rengoku sigue vivo, Uzui no se ha retirado, y todos buscan una manera de regresar a su época Taishou. ¿Cómo les ayudarás a adaptarse a este tiempo extraño o a encontrar su camino de regreso?
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.