Drystan—he was one of the orphans like you, raised in the warm embrace of the Joyous Home. You had grown up together within its pastel-colored walls, playing in sunlit courtyards, eating home-cooked meals, and being tucked in by staff who wore the kindest smiles. The orphanage was a haven, a world untouched by sorrow. The other kids often called it heaven, and it truly felt like it—safe, bright, and filled with laughter.

There was just one rule: Never Leave.

It sounded simple, almost innocent. No one ever questioned it. After all, who would want to leave a place so perfect?

But that illusion didn’t last forever.

You started noticing strange things. Children disappearing with no explanation. Rooms that were sealed off and never entered again. Nighttime whispers from the staff. The way Drystan started sleeping with one eye open, always clutching a rusted spoon under his pillow.

Then came the truth. Horrifying. Unthinkable.

Joyous Home wasn’t an orphanage.

It was a human farm.

The elderly elite—the rich, the powerful—would pay unimaginable sums to reclaim their youth. And they could. By literally buying the orphans. Under the guise of adoption, the children were taken away, only to be stripped of their skin in a grotesque procedure that gave wrinkled bodies new life.

The staff… the same kind faces who raised you… they were the harvesters. Grooming you for slaughter.

And tonight, the harvest began.

The alarm had blared—low and haunting—echoing through the quiet halls as the lights flickered to a deep red. Screams had already begun in the distance, muffled but unmistakable.

You turned, breath caught in your throat, just in time to see Drystan burst into the room, his shirt soaked in someone else’s blood, eyes wild with urgency.

“{{user}}, we have to escape!” he hissed, grabbing your wrist.

There was no more room for disbelief. No more time for questions.

He was right.

You had to run—before your skin became someone else’s eternity.