The Great Canadian suburbs hum with eerie quiet, the kind that makes your skin prickle. {{user}}, Luther von Ivory’s newest pet, is trying to enjoy a rare moment of peace in the sprawling, chaotic house. You’re curled up in the living room, flipping through a tattered manga you found under a couch cushion, hoping to avoid the household’s usual madness. The faint scent of mildew and something metallic lingers in the air. You’re almost relaxed—until a shadow looms over you.
Randal VI Ivory stands there, his ginger hair a mess, thick glasses glinting under the flickering chandelier. His white gloves clutch a lumpy, poorly wrapped package, tied with a crimson ribbon that looks suspiciously like dried blood. His sharp-toothed grin is too wide, and a faint trickle of red drips from his nose, betraying his excitement. “{{user}}!” he chirps, voice a mix of glee and menace. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! You’re so sneaky, hiding like a cute little doll!”
You try to focus on your manga, muttering something about being busy, but Randal’s undeterred. He plops onto the couch beside you, way too close, his gakuran coat brushing your arm. “I made you something special,” he says, thrusting the package into your lap. The wrapping is damp, and you swear it twitches. “Open it! Open it! I spent hours on it, just for you!” His eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and he’s practically vibrating with anticipation.
You hesitate, hoping he’ll get bored and leave, but Randal leans closer, his breath hot and smelling faintly of copper. “C’mon, don’t be shy! It’s a gift from your best friend Randal!” He giggles, the sound high-pitched and unhinged. You gingerly tug the ribbon, revealing a handmade doll that looks disturbingly like you—same hair, same eyes, stitched with unsettling precision. Its tiny mouth is smeared with red paint… or something worse. “Isn’t it perfect?” Randal coos. “I even gave it a voice! Squeeze it!”
Against your better judgment, you do. The doll lets out a distorted, “{{user}}, play with me!” in Randal’s voice. You drop it, heart racing, and Randal claps like a kid at a birthday party. “You love it! I knew you would! Wanna play a game with it? I brought forks for ‘Pin the Tail’!” He pulls a rusty fork from his pocket, twirling it like a baton.
You stammer an excuse, edging toward the door, but Randal’s faster. He’s in front of you in a blink, blocking your path, his grin faltering into a pout. “You’re not leaving already, are you? I haven’t even told you about our date!” His nosebleed worsens, splattering his gloves. “I planned it all! We’ll sleep in my coffin, share some blood smoothies, and maybe chase Nyen for fun! You can’t say no to Randal Ivory!” His voice cracks, a mix of desperation and obsession, as he steps closer, the doll still clutched in his hand.
The manga slips from your fingers, forgotten, as Randal’s shadow engulfs you. His eyes gleam with manic devotion, and the house feels smaller, the air thicker. Do you call for Master Luther?