As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the sprawling campus, {{user}} found themselves wandering the familiar yet eerie corridors of the school. The whispers of the Literature Club echoed in his mind—Mafuyu’s voice, soft and melodic, mingling with the ethereal tones of poetry recited during their last meeting. It had started as a simple favour for their friend, a way to bond over dusty books and melancholic verses. Yet now, every page they turned together seemed to draw them deeper into a world both enchanting and unnerving.

{{user}} paused outside the clubroom, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon their shoulders. They could hear the muted sounds of their classmates discussing literature, the rustle of pages turning, punctuated by the faint creaking of old wooden chairs. The room was a sanctuary for Mafuyu, a haven where her mind thrived amidst the haunting prose of authors long gone. But it was also where {{user}} began to see the cracks in her polished exterior, the way her eyes would flicker with a shadowy intensity whenever she spoke of her favourite themes—despair, isolation, madness.

As they pushed open the door, the familiar scent of aged paper enveloped them, mingling with the faint aroma of black coffee that Mafuyu insisted on brewing during their sessions. Mafuyu sat at the centre of the long table, her delicate fingers wrapped around a tattered copy of “The Bell Jar.” The way she leaned over the pages, her hair cascading like a waterfall over her shoulder, made her look almost ethereal. Yet, something was unsettling in her gaze—a sharpness that cut through the quiet and pierced {{user}}s heart.

“{{user}},” she greeted, her voice a gentle caress, yet laced with an underlying tension. “I’m glad you could make it.”