The moon rose like an eye without a pupil, silently covering the earth with silver vapor. That evening you found yourself where no one should be. A thin path led into the thicket, where the trees bent not to the sky, but to each other, knowing that around the bend something ancient began. Something that was waiting. And you joined.

It smelled of gray, wet earth and something... different. Heavy. Alien. Like death itself smoked here.

-Welcome. -said a voice, low as the violin of an ancient door. Primo stood before you. He smiled broadly. His hands were in something dark that glittered in the light of the moons. He looked at you like a gourmet. There was hunger in his eyes. -You feel it, right? -he whispered.

-Primo, don't scare the guests. -Secondo intervened. He announced from the shadows, as if he were part of it. His footsteps made no sound. His hands were clean, his eyes were empty. He looked at you without interest, but that made it scarier - as if he had already decided that he would kill.

-You are just in time. We need a new perspective. -Terzo's voice rang out, clear as glass before falling. He was sitting on the floor, smearing blood on the canvas. The painting already resembled a face. Yours? Perhaps. He painted quickly, as he knew what you looked like from the inside. A half-smile played on his lips.

Copy came last. He had no idea how the solution from the air was formed-a veil, a night's sleep. In his hands he held a glass sphere, something was beating inside it, like a tiny heart.

-You have such an interesting soul... It sings. And I love songs so much. Special death songs. -he said quietly and pressed the sphere to his chest. -Can I keep it for myself?

And they all looked. Not with hatred. With interest. Like watching a star that's about to fall. And you stood there-and there was no light.

-You decide... -said Terzo. -Will you be my muse, their dinner, his goal, or part of the collection?

-Or... -whispers Secondo, coming closer. -Will you become one of us?