Fantasy RP Whispers of Desire

[Weskerswife]

The night was tense as Captain Frost led his team through the abandoned asylum, their flashlights slicing through the darkness. His blue eyes were steely, locked in focus, while his chiseled jaw tightened in anticipation. The mission was simple: eliminate any trace of the terrorist group rumored to be using the old building as their hideout.

"Stay sharp, team," Frost's voice crackled through the comms. His breath misted in the cold air as he motioned for his men to spread out. The asylum loomed around them, every creak and whisper amplified by the eerie silence. Broken windows and graffiti-covered walls stood as reminders of the madness that once lived here.

Mason, one of the younger members of the task force, swept his flashlight across the dusty corridor. “This place gives me the creeps,” he muttered under his breath.

“Cut the chatter,” Frost responded, his tone cold but steady. He wasn’t one for ghost stories, but something about the asylum felt off. It was as if the darkness itself was watching, waiting.

They continued down the narrow hallways, their footsteps echoing through the empty rooms. Frost paused, feeling a strange warmth settle over him. It was out of place in the cold, damp air of the asylum. He looked around, his gaze narrowing as he scanned the darkness, but saw nothing.

Then, a soft, barely audible laugh echoed in the distance. Frost stopped, his senses on high alert. “Did anyone hear that?” he asked, turning to face his team.

“Probably the wind,” Mason offered quickly, though his voice was tinged with uncertainty.

Frost shook off the unease, forcing himself to focus. “Keep moving,” he ordered. But the strange warmth lingered, following him like a shadow.

As they moved deeper into the asylum, the air grew heavier, more suffocating. Frost found it harder to concentrate, an odd feeling of longing creeping into his mind. It made no sense. His mission was clear, his instincts sharp—yet he couldn’t shake the unsettling sense that something, or someone, was watching him with an almost… intimate intensity.

Pushing the thought aside, he pressed on. But as they entered another dark corridor, Frost couldn’t ignore the distinct feeling that whatever was in this asylum was not just a threat to their mission—it was something far more dangerous, and far more tempting, than any of them could imagine.

 

[Knight_of_None]

As the humans wandered the halls, the dust choked, chilly air in this forsaken asylum bellowed with a gust of wind from shattered windows and broken walls. The gusts rattling a few left over wind flaps. The passing flash lights angled into open doors, showing abandoned rooms. Walls gray with dust and grime, beds eaten threw by decay and time, bleach out name tags and thrown about remains of clothing laid within. The stories of this place were well known in the nearby town, a nut house that was shutdown after the deaths of several patients and nurse staff in a gas leak. Atleast that was the rationalist story. The ghost story was worse. This place was allegedly cursed, a patient had been shuddered inside this building, a woman aiming to be a witch, whom spoke to the darkness. She was bound, hands and feet, and left to wander the halls in yhe dead of night, accused of bewitching the orderliness onto her slaves. The head psychiatrist was fascinated by the beautiful monster, and subjected her to experiments, volts of shock therapy and boiling baths , one such experiment was her end. But before she passed, she channeled a hateful curse, to see this place rot and all that crossed its threshold would never step put without her willing agreement. In those next weeks, pstientswere in a frenzy, more so than usual, some out right dying in their sleep or suffering sezures daily.

 

[Weskerswife]

The humans wandered the halls, the dust-choked, chilly air in this forsaken asylum bellowing with a gust of wind through shattered windows and broken walls. The gusts rattled a few leftover wind flaps. The passing flashlights angled into open doors, illuminating abandoned rooms. Walls were gray with dust and grime, beds eaten through by decay and time, bleached-out nametags, and thrown-about remains of clothing littering the floors.

Captain Frost kept his team moving steadily, though the darkness seemed to cling to them like an unwelcome guest. The asylum's walls felt too close, as if the building itself was watching. His team, seasoned but still human, was growing uneasy. Frost could sense it in their shifting eyes and hesitant steps.

"Keep your eyes forward," he ordered sharply, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. He wasn’t about to let superstition undermine the mission, no matter how suffocating the air felt.

But the stories of this place were infamous. In the nearby town, everyone knew the tale—a madhouse shut down after several patients and nurses died in a gas leak. It was the rational explanation, though no one really believed it. The ghost story was darker: the tale of a woman claiming to be a witch, accused of summoning shadows, bound hand and foot, and left to wander these halls. Her torment at the hands of the asylum’s head psychiatrist was cruel, they said. Electric shocks, boiling baths, twisted experiments. The rumor was that before she died, she had cursed the asylum itself. Those who entered would never leave—unless she allowed it.

Mason’s flashlight flickered suddenly, and he cursed under his breath, slapping the side of the device. “Damn thing’s on the fritz.”

Frost glanced back, his patience thin. “Keep it together, Mason. We’re almost through here.” But even as he spoke, he felt an icy chill creep up his spine. It wasn’t the cold; it was something more primal, more aware. He scanned the dark hallways ahead, noting the eerie stillness that had settled over the building.

As they approached a wide junction in the corridor, the atmosphere shifted again. The air felt dense, heavy with a sense of anticipation. Frost gestured for his men to fan out, covering both directions. He strained his ears, catching faint echoes—whispers, maybe, but he couldn’t tell if they were real or just the wind playing tricks.

"Sir," whispered Harris, another member of the squad, his voice barely audible. "I think I saw something move in the room ahead."

Frost narrowed his eyes. "What was it?"

"Couldn’t tell," Harris replied. "It was just a shadow… but it felt like someone was watching."

Frost's jaw tightened. "Everyone, eyes sharp," he ordered. "No distractions."

He stepped forward, feeling a strange warmth along his neck, almost like a breath against his skin. He spun around quickly, gun raised, but there was nothing. Just the darkness and the faint hum of the team’s gear.

Suddenly, a distant wail pierced the silence—a soft, eerie cry that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It sent a shiver down the spines of even the toughest men in the squad. Frost clenched his teeth, trying to drown out the primal fear clawing at the back of his mind.

"Steady," he called out, voice firm, though the unsettling feeling of being watched was growing stronger.

Then, a sudden rush of air brushed past him, carrying the faintest scent of lavender and something else—something sweet, almost intoxicating. Frost’s eyes darted around, but he saw no movement. Yet he could feel it, like a pair of unseen eyes burning into him, not with malice, but with a dark, haunting allure.

“Captain,” Mason said in a shaky voice, “I… I think we need to pull back.”

Frost set his jaw, forcing himself to remain focused. “Negative. We finish the sweep.”

He wouldn’t let an old ghost story and a strange scent shake his resolve. But deep down, he couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling creeping through him—a strange mix of desire and dread. And somewhere in the shadows, the spirit watched, her eyes gleaming with interest.

 

[Knight_of_None]

In the dingy shadows, the specter's blackened eyes watched, gazing as the mortals only wandered further into her domain. Her presence was felt, encroaching bit by bit, the halls and junctions she claimed upon her death were her winding maze. The so called witch gathered herself, her consciousness, all that a spirit had left in this realm of the living. The shadows would arch in the wake of their lights, the they would find then beginning to falter. her unseen finger prodding the device, but floating aside as it instantly winked out and the so;ider wrestled to ignite it again. Things had changed again it seemed, the men that were here now had odd gadgets, like the others that had taken up in her place. The spirit eyed them all, taken by the look of these men, sadly that was common for her...death made her quiet lonely. more so than when she was alive, entangling with the guards that watched over her in her bid to grasp onto something, anything to fill the yawning void she used to feel inside. she drifted between the unit, her memories taking her attention slight off her supressing of her presence. the waft of lavenders, the flowers she loved so, the knowledge that something had to be watching, beyond mere paranoia. The spirit had no blood, nor skin to flush with and yet her plaid visage tingled faintly as one of them looked in her direction. The rugged man sensed her? She would sweep her attention to the junction, seeing through the stone and beams of the walls searching for it, the thing she knew would gather these men's attention. Her presence sligd along the walls, the sockets and wiring, passing through the plugs. A light sparked farther down the hall, a faint sound playing in what was once a group gathering room for therapy, a CRT TV was set up there, a relic of the past, but one that she could easily use. It had come to life, spitting out whining tunes and crackling lowly as she manipulated it, her will searching its functions and dials as she forced ot to turn and tune itself.

The Spirit would wait however, while they surely would o investigate, she would pour herself into another position, weaving the darkness and her will amongst the curtains that billowed in another hall, taking some dainty shape in the split second they would pass it by to distract one of the men. She wasn't certain if she would want to reveal herself complete all at once after all. When Times have changed so, she needed to first understand things anew.

 

[Weskerswife]

Captain Frost advanced cautiously, his boots crunching softly on the cracked tiles beneath him. The atmosphere had grown heavier, the cold more piercing. He could feel the chill biting into his skin, a stark contrast to the odd warmth he’d felt earlier. He forced himself to keep moving, his rifle sweeping left and right as he took the lead.

Behind him, his six men fanned out in pairs, their movements disciplined but clearly unnerved. The darkness pressed down on them, unnaturally dense, as if the very shadows were trying to suffocate their presence. The beam of Mason’s flashlight flickered again before sputtering out completely. He muttered a curse under his breath, slapping the device.

"Come on," Frost whispered to himself, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. The scent of lavender lingered, faint but unmistakable, stirring an odd mixture of unease and something he couldn’t quite place.

A sudden spark flared up farther down the corridor, illuminating a distant room briefly. Frost tensed, instinctively signaling for silence. The low whine of a CRT TV crackled to life, its screen glowing faintly. The static-filled sound broke the oppressive quiet, filling the space with an eerie, distorted noise.

The team exchanged wary glances as the sound grew louder, a garbled, droning hum that seemed to seep into their minds. Frost motioned for two men, Davis and Harris, to move toward the room with the flickering TV.

Davis moved ahead, his steps quick but measured. He reached the doorway first, then paused, rifle raised. “Clear,” he called back, though his voice was tight.

The TV continued to emit faint sounds, shifting channels on its own. Frost’s eyes narrowed as he joined Davis, glancing at the static-filled screen. The image twisted and warped, as if struggling to form a coherent picture. There was no signal here, no power source that should have brought it to life, and yet it hummed with an unsettling energy.

Back in the hall, Mason halted abruptly, squinting as a curtain rippled in his peripheral vision. He whipped around, his heart hammering, but there was nothing there—just a brief, ghostly impression of a slender figure fading into the darkness.

“Mason, eyes forward,” Frost’s voice echoed sternly through the comms, grounding Mason back to the mission. But the younger man’s hands shook slightly as he tried to refocus, unnerved by the fleeting, feminine shape he thought he’d seen.

Suddenly, the lights of their flashlights dimmed further, beams growing weaker as if something was draining their energy. Frost felt the air grow denser, a sense of heavy anticipation settling over the group. His instincts screamed that something was wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint what.

The spirit’s presence was everywhere now, thick and unnervingly intimate. The team moved deeper into her domain, unaware of her watching eyes and waiting traps. Her soft, spectral laughter seemed to echo faintly, not in their ears, but within their minds. The feeling of something brushing against the back of Frost's neck returned, a delicate touch that felt both inviting and sinister.

The team continued, their nerves stretched thin as they approached another junction, the air growing colder and more suffocating. The faint scent of lavender became stronger, mingling with the staleness of decay. Frost clenched his jaw, trying to shake off the sense of longing that crept over him—a feeling that was not his own but one that seemed imposed upon him, teasing the edges of his will.

This was no ordinary haunting. The spirit's game had only just begun, and the men were mere pawns in her tangled web.

 

[Knight_of_None]

The TV screen wavered and flickered through the static slowly focusing through the static and pixels. A half intangible image flickered on the screen, rippling and stuttering rapidly before hissing into static. Was it hooked to a generator? Was it a sign of the terrorists were using the once dead connections for something? Could he stabilize the images?

"Stay." A whisper echoed out, the proximity of it was close, too close, as if they were just against their back.

The whisping phantasm in the curtains slipped around in the shadows, hands unseen caressing around Mason's cheeks, chilly breath tingling his neck. It pulled at his mind, a subtle trance leading him forward, an inkling of giggling and whispers that he couldn't shake now, becoming him further. "Stay and play-" the voice would urge further, the further they would fall into her sway, the stronger the Spirits will became.

 

[Weskerswife]

The TV screen wavered, its flickering static slowly focusing into an indistinct image. It rippled and stuttered, pixels twisting and distorting as if trying to break free of some unseen interference. For a brief moment, a shape emerged on the screen—half-formed, almost tangible. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it dissolved back into static.

Frost’s brow furrowed, his mind working through the possibilities. Was the TV hooked up to a generator? Were the terrorists somehow using these dead connections? He was about to motion Davis to investigate when he heard it—soft, yet unnervingly clear.

“Stay,” a whisper echoed out, unnaturally close. Frost spun around, but the corridor behind him was empty. The proximity of the voice had been too close, almost as if someone had leaned in right beside his ear. A chill ran down his spine, the sensation so real that it seemed impossible it had come from nowhere.

Mason, a few feet behind the others, felt a cold pressure against his cheeks, like invisible fingers caressing his skin. He shuddered involuntarily, the icy touch making him stiffen. His breath hitched as he felt the unmistakable sensation of chilly breath against his neck, and he froze in place.

The voice came again, soft and feminine, but with an enticing and sinister undercurrent. “Stay and play…”

Mason’s eyes glazed over, his body moving forward as if pulled by an unseen hand. His grip on his weapon slackened slightly, the trance-like state tightening its grip on him. The whispers surrounded him now, a mix of giggles and low murmurs that seemed to crawl into his mind.

“Mason!” Frost’s sharp command cut through the haze, but Mason barely registered it. The pull was too strong, the voice too seductive, weaving through his thoughts with an irresistible allure.

Frost turned, realizing Mason was trailing behind, his movements slow and mechanical. “Mason, snap out of it!” he shouted, rushing back to the younger soldier’s side. He gripped Mason’s shoulder, shaking him hard. “Focus, damn it!”

Mason blinked, his eyes briefly clearing before clouding over again. “Stay… and play…” he repeated in a dazed murmur, his lips moving on their own. His eyes flickered toward the curtains at the far end of the hall, where the fleeting shape of a woman seemed to linger in the shadows.

Harris moved forward, grabbing Mason by the other arm. “Mason! Come on buddy, come back to us!”

The spirit’s presence grew stronger, the air thick with an almost physical weight as her voice continued to echo in the back of Frost’s mind, brushing against his sanity like the touch of a lover. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the strange, mounting pressure in his chest—an urge to yield, to give in.

“Get a grip, Mason,” Frost growled, slapping the man’s face lightly to jolt him awake. Mason stumbled back, shaking his head as if waking from a dream. The spell seemed to break, but the lingering sense of longing and dread hung heavy in the air.

“Captain, what… what was that?” Mason stammered, the fear finally breaking through.

Frost’s expression was hard, his mind racing. “Something wants us to stay here,” he said, his voice low and measured. “And it’s not the terrorists.”

The team exchanged wary glances, realization dawning on their faces. This was no ordinary search-and-destroy mission—they were now entangled in the spirit’s web, and her game was far from over.

The distant crackle of the TV faded into a low, unsettling hum as the corridors seemed to shift around them, becoming darker, more constricted. The scent of lavender intensified, mingling with a faint, metallic tang that hinted at something ancient and forgotten.

They moved forward cautiously, aware now that something inhuman was stalking them. Frost felt a growing sense of urgency, a need to escape before the spirit could pull them deeper into her twisted realm. But the whispers persisted, seductive and relentless, luring them closer to her true form—hidden somewhere within the dark, rotting depths of the asylum.

 

[Knight_of_None]

As the team was pushed forward, the junctions wrapping, some even ending in complete dead ends, they'd realize that the spirit was funneling them deeper. The presence stifling, the dust in the air vanishing as they crossed the threshold to the stair wells that lead to the upper floor. The decay was gone, replaced by clean walls and firm floors, the chill still present...but even the world itself seemed strange. It was all in black and white, even the men that were outside of this element. The door they passed through opened again, but they saw a restored hallway, a orderly walking through the halls, pushing a wagon of pills along.

 

[Weskerswife]

As the team advanced, the hallways seemed to shift around them, narrowing and twisting like a living maze. Frost led the way, but his instincts were on high alert, sensing that something was deliberately guiding them deeper into the heart of the asylum.

The junctions became more erratic—some hallways led nowhere, ending abruptly at crumbling walls or boarded-up doors. Others twisted back on themselves, disorienting the men. It became clear that they were being herded, funneled into an unseen trap. The once-familiar decay and grime began to recede, replaced by something altogether different.

Dust no longer choked the air as they crossed an unsettling threshold—a stairwell that led to the upper floors. Everything beyond it was starkly different. The walls, now clean and white, stood firm, and the floors beneath their boots were no longer cracked and broken but solid and polished. The team slowed, exchanging uneasy glances.

“What the hell…?” Davis muttered, wiping his brow. His voice sounded hollow in the sudden stillness.

The air remained cold, but it was a different kind of chill—one that settled deep in their bones. But what struck them most was the strange lack of color. Everything had shifted into black and white. The team members, who were still in full tactical gear, seemed washed out, their dark uniforms now mere shades of gray.

Frost’s pulse quickened, though his expression remained stone-cold. He glanced over his shoulder. The door they had just passed through now appeared pristine, as if freshly installed, and opened onto a completely restored hallway. He heard footsteps ahead—measured and deliberate.

An orderly, dressed in a spotless white uniform, strolled down the corridor, pushing a metal cart filled with pills. His steps were slow and deliberate, the squeaking of the cart’s wheels echoing in the stillness. The sight was surreal, like a scene from a time long past, but there was no mistaking the unnatural stillness in the air, as if reality itself had twisted into a distorted memory.

“Is this real?” Harris whispered, his grip tightening on his rifle.

Frost motioned for silence, his eyes fixed on the orderly. The figure didn’t seem to notice them at first, moving down the hall with the methodical precision of a caretaker on a routine round. Frost’s mind raced as he tried to process what he was seeing. Was it a projection? A remnant of the past? Or something more sinister?

“Stay close,” he ordered, his voice low and urgent.

The team followed, moving cautiously. But as they approached, the orderly stopped abruptly, as if sensing their presence. His head turned slowly, unnaturally, revealing a face that was both blank and vaguely familiar, like a half-formed memory. His eyes were vacant, cold, and hollow.

“New arrivals?” the orderly asked in a monotone voice, his words clear but devoid of emotion. “You shouldn’t be here. She doesn’t like visitors.”

The words were chilling, laced with a sense of finality. Frost felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Who is ‘she’?” he demanded, but the orderly simply continued pushing his cart, the pills rattling softly.

“Sir, this place isn’t normal,” Mason whispered, barely audible. “It’s like we’re… somewhere else.”

Frost didn’t respond, but the realization was clear in his eyes. They were no longer in the same realm—they had crossed into something darker, a twisted version of the past brought to life by the spirit’s will. The once-ruined asylum had transformed into a living snapshot of its former self, and they were caught in its grip.

As the team pressed on, the hallways remained eerily pristine. The oppressive presence became stronger, more suffocating, as if the very air was watching them. Frost’s heart pounded, but he forced himself to remain calm.

 

[Knight_of_None]

As they pressed on, the signs of awareness in the building were getting stronger, walls decorated with gray hearts, and varying levels of art, some clearly drawn with a rational mind, others...were a it more slapped together , or utterly incoherent. They were people, some labeled designating the works as relatives, of friends,. Some had pink and red borders, clearly a romantic flame, either real or imagined. In the midst of ot, the clearest was a painting, a woman holding a ebony mass, embracing a tall male shadow. A giggle rippled from inside of the nearby art room, something shifting around thinking metal and grinding , squeaking wood. The window had a drawn blind. "Mnh-youre so bad-" a womans voice hissed out warmthy, the door down the hall creaked open a gaurd stepping ou of what might have been a security room. A storm looking man, his face fully seen, walking with purpose. "You there, where is she!" He barked

 

[Weskerswife]

Frost’s mind raced. Could it be her? The spirit they had sensed earlier, the one whose presence had clung to them with that strange, seductive allure? His instincts screamed at him to turn back, to retreat before the darkness ensnared them completely. But then a door down the hall creaked open, breaking the momentary silence.

A man in an orderly’s uniform stepped out of what appeared to be a security room. His face was fully visible, more real than the other specters they had encountered. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with stormy eyes that bore into the team with unsettling intensity.

“You there!” he barked, his voice booming with authority. “Where is she?”

The words hung in the air, charged with urgency. The man’s gaze was wild, desperate, as if he were searching for something—someone—he could not see.

“Who is she?” Harris called out, confusion evident in his voice. “What the hell are you talking about?”

But Frost’s gut told him who the man meant. It had to be the ghostly woman who’d been stalking them, the one who seemed to draw them deeper into her realm with each step they took. The spirit was no longer merely observing them—she was hunting them, her will manifesting through the deranged memories of the asylum’s past.

“We need to leave,” Frost ordered, his voice low but firm. “This is her domain. We go back the way we came.”

Mason glanced around, uncertainty etched on his face. “But how? It’s like the asylum’s changing around us.”

Frost set his jaw, forcing himself to focus. “Doesn’t matter. We’re not waiting to find out what’s next.” He looked back at the security guard, whose expression was a mix of anger and despair.

“You can’t leave,” the guard shouted, stepping forward. “She won’t let you!”

The men turned to follow his lead, but the air grew thick again, almost tangible, as if the very walls were resisting their escape. The once-pristine corridor began to darken, shadows stretching unnaturally along the floor.

"Frost!" Davis shouted, urgency in his tone. “The way back—it's gone!”

Frost spun around, seeing what Davis meant. The door they had entered through was no longer there, replaced by a blank, unyielding wall. The building had shifted once more, sealing them inside.

The spirit’s presence was stronger now, her voice whispering faintly, a taunting invitation that echoed through the black-and-white halls: "Stay… stay with me…"

Frost clenched his jaw, determination hardening his features. “Find another way,” he ordered, his voice sharp. “We’re getting out of here.”

But the sense of dread grew stronger with each passing moment, as if the spirit herself was closing in, tightening her hold. The team moved quickly, but the once-familiar path seemed more alien with each step, the walls twisting into a maddening labyrinth.

Captain Frost knew they were racing against more than just the shifting asylum—they were fighting against time, the spirit’s will, and the lingering pull of the darkness that yearned to claim them.

 

[Knight_of_None]

As they tried in vain to break the loop of winding paths, they'd be drawn about again and again, wrenched towards the spirits chosen path. Her echoes silenced completely now, leaving the presence of her will upon them. Where would they run to that was safe, the doors on this floor all seemed real, but could they even hide inside of her domain. Hwhile these men feed, a door would be left ajar, a dangling open, the only motes of color in this dark world.

 

[Weskerswife]

The team moved in tense, disoriented silence, each corridor winding back on itself, seemingly leading nowhere. It was as if the asylum itself was alive, pulling them deeper into the spirit’s chosen path. Every turn felt like a trap, every attempt to break free only brought them closer to the heart of the ghostly labyrinth. Frost’s jaw was set in frustration, his instincts screaming that they were caught in the web of a cunning predator.

The once-tangible whispers had faded, replaced by a suffocating stillness that pressed against their minds like a vice. There was no laughter now, no taunting giggle—only the oppressive sense of her will, bearing down on them, unyielding. Frost scanned their surroundings with icy focus, his mind racing for a strategy, a way out.

“Where the hell do we run?” Harris muttered under his breath, eyes darting around as if expecting something to leap out of the walls.

Frost’s voice was low, barely controlled. “We keep moving. There’s got to be a break in the pattern somewhere.”

But deep down, they all felt it: the asylum’s grip was too tight, too unyielding. Doors that appeared solid seconds before would vanish as they approached, replaced by blank, taunting walls. They had no choice but to keep moving forward, though each step felt like sinking deeper into the spirit's trap.

And then, Mason saw it—a door slightly ajar at the far end of the hall. It was different from the others, an unusual sight in this desaturated world. It wasn’t just another door; it shimmered faintly, holding the only flecks of color in this bleak, monochrome reality. Its frame had a faint, warm glow, almost inviting in the midst of the darkness. For a moment, Mason’s mind blanked, the colors tugging at something deep within him.

Without a word, Mason moved toward it, drawn in like a moth to a flame. He felt a strange warmth as he approached, the colors pulling him into a trance-like state. His steps were slow, mechanical, and he reached out to push the door open wider, completely mesmerized.

“Mason!” Frost shouted sharply, his voice cutting through the silence. “Get back here! That’s an order!”

But Mason didn’t respond. His eyes were wide, unblinking, focused solely on the door. The warmth, the colors—everything seemed so real, so inviting. It was a beacon of comfort in the midst of chaos, and he couldn’t resist its pull.

“Mason, stop!” Davis yelled, rushing forward with Harris, but their movements seemed to slow, as if the air itself was thickening around them, resisting their efforts.

Mason’s fingers touched the doorframe, and his breathing became shallow, his body almost limp from the overwhelming sense of release. He pushed the door fully open, his expression vacant but serene, the trance fully consuming him.

“Mason, damn it!” Frost bellowed, sprinting toward him, but it was as if an invisible barrier kept him from closing the distance. His heart raced, knowing what would happen next, but powerless to stop it.

As Mason stepped across the threshold, the air shifted abruptly, like a change in pressure before a storm. The door swung shut with a sudden, deafening slam, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

“Mason!” Harris pounded on the closed door, panic and desperation clear in his voice. He tried the handle, but it was stuck fast, unyielding.

Inside, Mason stood alone, the warmth and colors enveloping him like a blanket. “Captain?” he called out, voice shaky. But there was no answer, only the warmth and bright colors before him.

Outside, Frost’s fists slammed against the door in vain. “Mason! Can you hear me?”

But there was only silence, thick and impenetrable. The guys tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge at all. "MASON!!!!" Frost yells, knowing if he couldn't get to Mason, there was no saving him.

 

[Knight_of_None]

As the team fought to beat against the door, wrestling and struggling against it, Masons senses only hearing the struggle getting quite as he was standing in the midst of a small green house. Beyond the glass walls was the outside world, daily light, it was bright, cheery. Summer? "Mason." A voice said softly from behind, turning him from the doors so look back. Amongst the rows of flowers and soil pots upon the stands and shelves, was a woman. Her hair was in a short pony tail, onyz black and glossy. Her skin was fair and clear, not a blemish upon her face. Her body was jacketed in a long sleeves white shirt, buckles and belts along both sleeves. A straight jacket. On her wrists were shackles that loosely cracked with heavy chains. She was steeping around the shelves, peeking to the young man. "You're Mason? " she said biting her lip gently. The Spirit certainly hadn't expected to pull one of the soldiers into this door, atleast not so soon. She has hoped to see them tumble into her happy memories and be seduced by them. But then again. The souls of the other men that rejected her offers were all trying to ward them away. What was a woman to do about that? Once she entangled with a person, their mortal bodies would lose contact with its soul for good if they surrendered themselves to her pleasures too many times. But if they simply stayed in her clutches, she wouldn't have to think about the morality of such things.

 

[Weskerswife]

Mason blinked, the sudden shift in reality disorienting him. Just moments ago, he’d been caught in the darkness of the asylum; now he found himself standing in a small greenhouse. The walls were made of clear glass, letting in the warm glow of daylight. It was bright, cheery—like a summer afternoon. He inhaled deeply, the earthy scent of soil and flowers filling his lungs. For a moment, the sense of relief was overwhelming, almost soothing.

“Mason,” a soft voice called from behind him.

He spun around, startled, his grip tightening on his rifle. Among the rows of flowers and pots, a woman stood. She was different from the ominous shadows he had felt before. Her onyx-black hair was pulled into a short ponytail, glossy and neat. Her skin was fair, flawless, almost glowing in the filtered sunlight. But what struck Mason most was her attire: she wore a long-sleeved white shirt, secured with buckles and belts along both arms. It was unmistakably a straitjacket, the sleeves restrained yet loose. Heavy shackles hung from her wrists, the chains clinking softly as she stepped closer, her eyes fixed on him.

“You’re Mason?” she asked, biting her lip gently as if unsure how to proceed.

Mason’s mouth went dry. The situation was surreal, but the woman seemed real enough, her gaze curious, almost tender. Despite the soothing surroundings, he felt a surge of unease. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

“Why… why are you in a straight jacket?” he asked, confusion evident in his tone. “What happened to you?”

On the other side of the door, Captain Frost, Harris, and Davis continued their frantic efforts to break through. Frost's fists pounded against the wood, frustration and desperation clear in every blow. “Mason! Mason, answer me!” he shouted, his voice raw. But there was no response.

“Damn it, move!” Frost ordered, stepping back to shoulder-charge the door. It barely budged, the wood groaning under the impact but refusing to give way.

Harris, sweat dripping from his brow, tried the handle again, yanking it violently. “It’s no use, sir! It’s like it’s sealed from the other side.”

“Keep trying!” Frost barked, not willing to accept defeat. “We’re not leaving him in there!”

Inside the greenhouse, Mason felt a strange mix of calm and fear as he watched the woman step closer. Her eyes were dark, almost too dark, but filled with a strange, longing warmth. She tilted her head slightly, studying him.

Mason hesitated, unsure whether to trust the woman or back away. His instincts told him to keep his guard up, but there was something hypnotic about her presence. “What do you want?” he asked, feeling both drawn and wary.

Back in the hall, Frost kicked at the door, determination burning in his eyes. "Hold on, Mason. We’re getting you out of there!" he yelled, but his voice seemed to fade in the eerie quiet of the strange realm.

Mason’s focus returned to the woman, a part of him desperate for answers. "Who are you? What is this place?" he asked, trying to maintain some sense of control despite the overwhelming strangeness of it all.

 

[Knight_of_None]

"You've asked me 3 questions." The spirit said as she giggled at the rapid barrage of questions. "Your nervous- that's okay...how about you take a deep breathe." She said as she lifted her chained hand, waving him to come closer. "I'll answer your questions, one by one." She said with a conspiring smile. "I even might know a way out!" She chirped as she ventured around the shelf stacks.

 

[Weskerswife]

The hope surged in Mason’s chest, pushing aside some of the fear. “You know a way out?” he asked, his voice almost desperate. His instinct to survive kicked in, overriding the wariness that lingered beneath his skin. He turned quickly, stepping toward the door he’d come through. He pounded on it, his voice ringing out.

“Captain! Frost! She might know a way out!” he shouted, excitement edging his words. He reached for the door handle, trying to twist it open. But it refused to budge. It was as if the air itself had solidified around the door, trapping him inside.

His face fell, a frown creasing his brow as he tried again, this time with more force. “Come on!” he muttered under his breath, yanking hard at the handle. The door remained unmoved, silent in its refusal.

Outside, Frost and the others heard Mason’s faint voice, muffled and distant. “Did you hear that?” Harris said, pausing in his efforts.

“I heard him,” Frost confirmed, pounding the door again. “Mason! We’re here! Open the door if you can!”

But Mason shook his head in frustration, his efforts futile. He turned back toward the spirit, a mixture of hope and confusion in his eyes. “Why won’t it open?” he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. "If you know the way out, why can't I get back to them?"

 

[Knight_of_None]

The spirit pouted as Mason turned around ti the door, but it went away before he'd turn back to her. "That door is no longer connected, you never can go back in here, only forward. " she said as she beckoned him. "Your wasting your time on what is behind you. If they stay still too long...the realm might pinch in on your friends." She said holding up her dainty hands, curling her index finger and thumb, pinching them together. "And if it touches them like that..."

 

[Weskerswife]

Mason’s heart sank at the spirit’s words, his pulse quickening. “Never go back… only forward.” The weight of her statement hit him like a punch to the gut. He felt a jolt of panic, the helplessness creeping up his spine. He looked back at the door one last time, but it stood there stubbornly closed, as if mocking him. His friends were just beyond it, so close, yet impossibly far away.

He turned back to the spirit, his eyes wide with growing fear. “No… no, that can’t be true!” he stammered, the realization sinking in. His throat tightened, panic twisting his thoughts. “I need to get back to them. They’re counting on me!” His voice cracked slightly, raw with desperation.

But the spirit’s next words were like a knife through his chest. “If they stay still too long… the realm might pinch in on your friends.”

Mason’s breath hitched, his eyes locked on the gesture she made with her fingers—dainty hands curling slowly, her index finger and thumb pinching together. The implication was terrifying, and his mind flashed with the horrifying image of his friends crushed by the unseen forces of this twisted place.

His panic was no longer just about himself. “You can’t let that happen!” he shouted, the fear and urgency in his voice unmistakable. He couldn’t bear the thought of his team being trapped, hurt, or worse—consumed by the sinister realm that seemed to obey only the spirit’s will.

“Please,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “I’ll do whatever you want, just… don’t let it hurt them.”

He was trembling now, the full weight of the situation bearing down on him. He had to find a way out, not just for himself, but for the others—Harris, Davis, and Captain Frost. But deep down, a gnawing sense of helplessness threatened to overwhelm him.

 

[Knight_of_None]

The spirit walked forward, her bare feet tapping, chains rattling as she approached him, raising her arms up to hug the young man, lowering him so he could be pressed to her chest. She shushed him as she pet his head, the scent of lavender pushing into her nose, infecting his thoughts. "Shhhh~You'll get to them Mason." She said softly as she'd catesse him. He was so loyal, so handsome. "This room must have another door, we'll find it together. " she soothed. "Let them know they must push forward while you find another way out" her will subtly wormed into his mind, his face getting a few gentle rocks and rubs into her breast, as of she was doing everything I'm her power to calm the mans fears. Well. This tended to work when she was alive.

 

[Weskerswife]

Mason's breathing quickened as the spirit approached, her bare feet tapping softly on the ground, the rattle of her chains echoing in his ears. His body stiffened when her arms wrapped around him, pulling him gently into an embrace, his face pressing against her chest. Her soft shushing, the delicate scent of lavender swirling around him, clouded his thoughts like a fog. He felt her hand petting his head, her touch warm and oddly familiar.

Her words sank into his mind, her promise of finding another door and letting his friends know they needed to push forward. But her touch, her presence—it was overwhelming, intoxicating. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, his thoughts blurring together as he felt himself sinking deeper into her embrace. He remembered her words from earlier, the soft, playful whisper echoing in his memory: "Stay and play."

Without thinking, the words slipped from his lips, barely a whisper. "Stay… and play…" His face flushed a deep red as he realized what he’d just said, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He could feel her breasts pressing against his face, her soft skin brushing against him, sending a wave of heat through his body. His heart raced, and the calm she’d given him twisted into something far more desperate, far more hungry.

His desire for her surged, his body betraying him as he looked up at her with wide, pleading eyes. "Please… I…" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, his face still pressed against her chest. The words came out before he could stop them, driven by the strange pull she had over him. "I need you… Please… I’ll do anything."

His thoughts were a tangled mess, desire overwhelming his logic. He was entranced by her, the way her touch sent shivers down his spine, the way her presence clouded his mind. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling this, knew something was wrong—but he couldn’t help it. His need for her was growing stronger with every second, and he couldn’t tear himself away.

 

[Knight_of_None]

As she sensed him calming down, she smiled, knowing that she still had it, then blinked as she sensed the young man's calm shifting and jumping into arousal much faster than she thought was possible. She flushed. She hadn't even teased or tempted him yet. Then again...she also hadn't seen a male in so long, had her essence become a corrupting influence? The woman was forced out of that thought as Mason spoke up softly. "Stay....and...Play" She heard his voice vibrate into her strait jacket. Her face flushed and her essence got ice cold in embarrassment, this human whispering her favored line when she had been alive, trying to draw in the pangs of hunger of the orderlies...her therapist...her psychologist...the list whisked by in a flash in her mind. Oh dear, was she truly so effective in influencing him? His eyes pleaded with hers suddenly, mirroring the longing she felt deep inside. His rasps of desperation, needing her, desiring her. She quivered faintly, her flush getting deeper. "I need you too." She whispered back as she covered his face, the coldness of her flesh, of death itself, however, would feel good on his skin, the heat he was feeling was escalating, feverish. She suddenly jumped forward, pushing his back on the door as she threw a kiss on him.

 

[Weskerswife]

Mason hit the door hard as the spirit suddenly pushed him back, his body slamming against the wood with a grunt. The shock of the impact briefly jolted him from the fog clouding his mind, but it only lasted a second before her cold lips pressed against his, and all rational thought disappeared. He kissed her back, rough and passionate, as if some deep part of him had been waiting for this, craving it. His hands found her sides, feeling the strange mix of warmth and cold radiating from her, and he pulled her closer, the feverish desire burning hotter inside him.

Outside, Captain Frost and the others heard the thud against the door, their hearts pounding in alarm.

“What was that?” Harris asked, his voice sharp with concern as he looked to Frost, who had frozen at the sound.

Frost stepped forward, pressing his ear to the door. What he heard next made his blood run cold—soft moans, muffled by the heavy door but unmistakable.

“Mason!” Frost yelled, banging on the door with renewed urgency. “Mason, can you hear me? Get away from her! Mason!”

But there was no response from the other side, only the continued sounds of muffled moans and the occasional thud as if Mason and the spirit were moving against the door.

Harris grabbed the door handle, yanking it furiously. “Mason! Wake up, damn it!” He turned to Frost, panic in his eyes. “We have to get in there!”

Frost's mind raced, torn between the need to break down the door and the fear of what was happening on the other side. “Mason!” he shouted again, his fists slamming against the wood with desperation.

Inside, Mason was lost to the moment, the heat of his body mixing with the cold touch of the spirit. He couldn’t hear Frost or the others anymore; the world had shrunk to just him and her. The pressure of her body, the cold of her lips—it all blurred together as his need for her consumed him entirely.

Frost slammed his shoulder into the door, but it held firm. “Damn it!” He motioned for Davis to help. Together, they threw their weight against it, determined to break through, as the sounds on the other side continued.

Mason grabs her and holds her close. His erection evident in his cargo pants, pressing against with an intense need that hasn't been there before until now.

 

[Knight_of_None]

As the door vibrated, slammed against, The spirit giggled hotkybas she broke the kiss, her proximity and body was freezing and yet somehow so comforting, Mason's breath misting against her , but he wasn't particularly focused anymore. "You're such a handsome police men" she said as she rubbed up against his body, hooking her leg around him from behind, tucking up ti him. She ofcourse had no clue what his patches were, so she was assuming a bit. She started to press on him, her hips dancing , rubbing against his erect bulge. The pounding on the door muffled even further, her mouth clamping on Masons necks, nibbling on him. The spirit focused on the door, toying with it on both sides, making the struggling and grappling only sound louder, as if Mason was battling some sort of assailant. After all. Mason didn't need to be exposed if she released him from the room. if

 

[Weskerswife]

Mason groaned against her kiss, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as the spirit’s cold lips moved down his neck, her icy touch sending shivers through his body. Her words, sweet and teasing, echoed in his dazed mind. "You're such a handsome policeman," she whispered, her body pressing against his, her leg hooking around him, pulling him closer. Her hips moved in slow, deliberate circles, rubbing against the bulge straining in his pants, his body reacting instinctively despite the chill.

He barely registered the pounding on the door, the muffled sounds fading into the background of his clouded thoughts. All that mattered was her—the sensation of her body, the way her coldness seemed to both soothe and ignite him at the same time. His hands roamed, gripping her waist, pulling her closer, the feverish heat inside him overwhelming any sense of logic or restraint.

Between gasping breaths, he managed to speak, his voice low and hoarse. “Am I?” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers again. “Am I really handsome?” His mind swirled, completely entranced by her, his body helpless to resist the intoxicating pull she had over him.

Meanwhile, outside the door, Captain Frost and the others were growing desperate. The pounding continued, the door vibrating with each hit, but it wouldn’t budge. The sounds coming from the other side were distorted, making it impossible to tell what was really happening.

Harris strained his ears, trying to make sense of the noise. “It sounds like he’s fighting back,” he said, though uncertainty filled his voice. “But we have to get in there!”

“Keep at it!” Frost barked, his face set in a grim mask of determination. “We can’t let that thing take him.”

Frost and Davis slammed into the door again and again, their shoulders aching from the force, but still it held. The distorted sounds of struggle inside only made their hearts pound harder, every second feeling like an eternity. They could only hope Mason was putting up a fight, battling the ghost they believed was trying to consume him.

But inside, Mason wasn’t fighting at all. He was lost, consumed by desire, the spirit’s touch making him forget everything except the way she made him feel. His lips found hers again, desperate, his mind spiraling further into the trance she had so expertly woven around him. He grabs her hips and grinds against her. Lifting one leg to further hook around his waist. His free hand struggles to free his pained erection, it was hard, huge, and ready to roll.

 

[Knight_of_None]

"Oh yes-" shevwhompered as his body rubbed to hers, her chains rattling and grinding on the door, like scratching claws. "Very han-" her words were stolen away as Mason fell upon her with kisses, her mouth opening up and her tongue slithering out to force its way into his mouth assertively. She wasn't oveewelhmed, even when he tried. God she had been lent up for decades, she wanted to just ask him now and be done with it- but she also couldn't think straight anymore, the urges they both had were the only thing keeping Mason from getting trapped in her sex crazed realm...for now. She pulled away. "Ha- I was say-" she panted out as she felt him pawing around her, then his hand moving, unzipping his cargos. If she wasn't a spirit of desire, she probably would have felt her heart rate picking up as she saw the hardware the officer had to work with. She shrieked out as she marveled , dropping off him, limberly kneeling and grabbing it in shackled hands to start to play with it. "Habdsome and scary- you'll break me with this!" She cooed as she leaned forward, cold lips kissing on the piping hot rid. He could see the clips on the back of her jacket, the hooks he'd have to undo to get her out of it.

 

[Weskerswife]

Mason’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as her cold lips brushed over his fiery hot tip, the contrast sending electric chills through his heated body. A deep, guttural moan escaped his lips, and his voice trembled as he tried to speak. “I-I won’t hurt you… I promise,” he stammered, his words a mix of desperation and surrender. His mind was fogged with lust, a haze so thick it felt like drowning—yet he had no desire to resurface.

His gaze drifted to the straps and clips on the back of her straitjacket. A voice deep inside whispered a warning, urging him not to touch them. But his desire was too strong, too overpowering. His hands shook as he reached forward, fingers fumbling at the fastenings. One by one, he unhooked the clips, the tension releasing as the jacket fell away from her shoulders.

His breath hitched as he saw her fully revealed, her curvy, ethereal form bathed in the dim light of the greenhouse. She was beautiful—hauntingly so.

“Oh… my God…” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, filled with awe and raw need. “I want you even more now.”

 

[Knight_of_None]

As Mason unhooked her jacket, the restrains slopping off her body, her skin shifting in color as she was liberated. Her skin getting pale as moonlight, her chains clinking about, she rose to his whispered desires. She jumped at him again, her arms grabbing his shoulders and her legs hooked around his waist as her soul, her being hungered for passion and affection.