[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/IlECHW9.jpeg[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/vJVzWLw.png[/img][/center] [right][code]The Purple House[/code][/right][hr][color=A9A8AF] The Purple House stood like a stubborn memory against the passage of time, its once-grand Victorian silhouette softened by ivy and the slow creep of age. It had been slated for demolition, an old hotel too worn and weary for the modern world, but Happy Padmanabhan had helped change its fate. Through the lens of his camera, he had captured its quiet dignity—the way the stained-glass windows caught the late afternoon light, the intricate woodwork curling along the balconies, the ghosts of history lingering in its grand, sagging hallways. The images had sparked something in the town, a movement to preserve rather than erase. Now, the Purple House had a second life as a set of apartments, and Happy lived within its walls, a tenant of the history he had helped save. Inside his small, but cozy apartment, the scent of spiced chai and something fried hung in the air, remnants of an evening well spent. The Padmanabhan siblings gathered here once a week—no matter how busy life got, no matter the excuses that could be made, this ritual remained unbroken. It was Happy’s turn to pick the activity, and he had chosen Pachisi, the age-old Indian board game that had filled their childhood with countless battles of chance and strategy. He had only one reason for picking it: he was going to beat Padma. Well—he was going to try. [color=856F45]“This is rigged,”[/color] Happy declared, voice laden with mock accusation as he slapped his piece onto the board. Padma, his older sister, arched a brow, all calm amusement as she flicked a glance at his miserable progress. [color=f6989d]“It’s not rigged, you’re just bad at it.”[/color] Krystal and Sunil, the youngest of them, cackled in unison. Sunil, never missing an opportunity to rub salt in a wound, leaned back against the couch, arms crossed smugly. [color=fff79a]“He always says that when he’s losing.”[/color] Jai, their older brother, barely lifted his head from where he lounged against the arm of the sofa. [color=f7976a]“Because he’s always losing.”[/color] Happy scowled at them all, but it was more dramatic than genuine. [color=856F45]“I don’t need this slander in my own home.”[/color] [color=f6989d]“Oh, you do,”[/color] Padma said, rolling the dice between her fingers before letting them drop. [color=f6989d]“You definitely do.”[/color] The room swelled with laughter, the easy kind that only existed between people who had grown up intertwined. The game had no real stakes, but to Happy, it was personal. Padma had always been better at Pachisi, always the one with an uncanny knack for strategy, and he had foolishly thought that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. They played for another hour before taking a break, the board still in place, pieces scattered mid-battle. Jai stretched, muttered something about resting his eyes, and within minutes, he was lightly snoring on the couch. Krystal and Sunil had retreated into their world, setting up a phone stand to record some social media dance clip, giggling over their choreography. Happy, however, found himself repeatedly glancing at his phone. The time. Again. And again. Padma, ever perceptive, caught on. [color=f6989d]“Why do you keep checking the time?”[/color] Happy hesitated before leaning in, lowering his voice. [color=856F45]“I need to talk to you.”[/color] Her brows knitted together, concern flickering over her face. But she didn’t press. Instead, she followed him as he stood and, with a careful glance toward their siblings, led her into the bathroom. It was the only place where conversations could be truly private in the apartment’s open layout. Once inside, Happy shut the door, leaning against it before pulling out a letter from his pocket, holding it up like a secret he wasn’t sure he should be sharing. "I found this in my coat pocket a few days ago." Padma snatched the parchment from his hand, unfolding the letter and scanning the words, her frown deepening. [color=f6989d]"The Archivist? Some… invitation for people with magic? At midnight?"[/color] Her head snapped up, eyes blazing with worry. [color=f6989d]"Happy, are you serious? Why didn’t you say something sooner?"[/color] He rubbed the back of his neck, already bracing for the lecture. [color=856F45]"Because I knew you’d react like this."[/color] [color=f6989d]“Of course I'd react like this!"[/color] She caught herself, lowering her voice as not to alert the others. [color=f6989d]"This could be dangerous. We don’t know who this is, or what they want from you.”[/color] [color=856F45]“I know,”[/color] Happy admitted, taking the letter back from her and stuffing it into his pocket. [color=856F45]“But this whole magic thing is new, and I need answers. It’s kinda weird that I can just—”[/color] He mimed pulling back a bowstring. [color=856F45]“Summon a freaking starlight bow out of nowhere. And, like, it feels weaker at night? What’s up with that?”[/color] Padma glared at him, [color=f6989d]“So your solution is to go meet a random stranger at midnight?”[/color] [color=856F45]“I mean, what if I’m, like, the descendant of Rama or something?”[/color] he joked, grinning. Padma was not amused. [color=f6989d]“Happy, please...I know you like to make light of everything, but this isn’t funny.”[/color] [color=856F45]"A little funny."[/color] [color=f6989d]"Not even a little."[/color] She exhaled through her nose, the weight of the moment settling between them. [color=f6989d]"You’re not going alone."[/color] [color=856F45]"Padma—"[/color] [color=f6989d]"No. This whole magic thing is weird as hell, and you don’t know what you’re walking into."[/color] Happy softened. [color=856F45]"And that’s exactly why I need to go. Besides, if something goes sideways, I have magic. You don’t. That’s why you can’t come."[/color] She stared at him, her big sister instincts warring with logic, but eventually, she relented. [color=f6989d]"Fine. But you need to keep me updated."[/color] [color=856F45]"Deal. But you have to promise not to tell the others."[/color] A pause, then a reluctant nod. [color=f6989d]"Fine."[/color] As they stepped out of the bathroom, Jai cracked an eye open from the couch, eyeing them with suspicion. [color=f7976a]"What the hell were you two doing in there?"[/color] [color=856F45]"Noth[/color][color=f6989d]ing!"[/color] they both blurted at the same time. Happy grabbed his camera bag. [color=856F45]"Anyway, gotta go. The news station needs some last-minute shots for a developing story."[/color] He didn’t wait for further questioning, slipping out of the apartment and into the crisp night air. Outside, he adjusted the strap of his camera and was about to hop onto his electric bike when movement caught his eye. A figure—shrouded in darkness—stood perched on the spire of the Purple House. His breath hitched. [color=856F45]"What the fuck?"[/color] Before he could fully process it, the figure moved. Leapt. Inhumanly high, effortlessly bounding across rooftops before vanishing into the night. Heart hammering, Happy instinctively raised his camera and snapped a shot. When he checked the screen, the image was blurred and dark. Whatever—or whoever—it was, they remained indistinct, an enigma. He kept the photo all the same. Shaking off the unease, he climbed onto his bike and rode toward the address in the letter. [/color] [right][@Skai][code]Monday April 14th, 13 Mourningdove Lane[/code][/right][hr][color=A9A8AF] When Happy arrived at 13 Mourningdove Lane, He parked his bike off to the side, tilting his head as he took in the towering estate. [color=856F45]“Totally not weird at all,”[/color] he muttered sarcastically, lifting his camera for a picture. A memory stirred—on his way here, he had seen a car leaving this direction, sleek and expensive. And now, in his camera’s frame, a silhouette entered the mansion. A petite woman. Familiar. His fingers twitched. His breath caught. He moved the camera away. [color=856F45]“Emmy?”[/color] The name slipped out unbidden, soft with disbelief. He saw her then, clearer now as the moonlight caught her face as she stepped into the house. He wouldn’t mistake her—his 8th grade middle school crush, the girl who had disappeared before the End of Year dance, before he had the chance to ask her. Without thinking, he slung his camera over his back and jogged forward, calling out, [color=856F45]“Emmy!”[/color] He barely registered the door opening and shutting behind him as he took her in, still as beautiful as he remembered—maybe even more so. Happy grinned, boyish and effortlessly flirtatious. [color=856F45]“Hi.”[/color] Seeing her here dispelled any nerves he felt about coming to this strange gathering. Or rather, his nerves were replaced with a different kind. A beat of silence stretched between them before he continued. [color=856F45]“So, it really is you. I guess you got the invitation too, huh?”[/color] [/color]