Forum Thread

In the heart of a forgotten city, shrouded in perpetual twilight, stands the Angel Institute—a crumbling edifice that looms like a specter over the desolate streets. Its once-grand façade, now marred by decay, whispers of a past filled with hope that has long since faded into darkness. Here, the air is thick with secrets, and the echoes of lost souls resonate through the empty halls. The fence is tall and foreboding, the gate padlocked by thick iron chains. This home has few windows- all of which barred.

Within these walls, the youth who have been cast aside by society find refuge. They are the forgotten ones—children without connections, without families to search for them when they vanish into the night. Each child is a ‘lost cause’, taken, and forgotten. The Institute is their sanctuary, a place where they are sheltered from the world. Rules must be strictly adhered to- not a toe out of line. Eyes are watching, there is nowhere you can hide.

As night falls, the atmosphere shifts. The flickering lights cast eerie shadows that dance along the walls, creating an unsettling ambiance. Whispers drift through the corridors, tales of those who came before—lost boys and girls who wandered too far. The staff, clad in somber uniforms, move like phantoms, their faces obscured by an air of mystery. They are guardians and wardens alike, tasked with caring for these fragile souls. For all children are fragile, they must be protected. Don’t wander too far, lest your breath be cut short.## The Ritual of Connection

Each evening, a ritual unfolds in the dimly lit common room. The children gather around a flickering fire, its warmth contrasting with the chill that seeps into their bones. They share stories—some filled with laughter, others heavy with sorrow—each word a thread weaving them closer together in their shared isolation. In this moment, they are not alone; they are a family forged in adversity, bound by their collective pain.

When a naughty child is detected, they are taken away. No one remembers them, for they are taught to condemn such unruly behavior. And when they return, these children are obedient. Pliant and well-mannered, an empty look in their eyes

Yet, beneath this fragile camaraderie lies an underlying tension. The Institute is not merely a refuge; it is a labyrinthine maze where shadows lurk just beyond sight. There are whispers of those who have tried to escape—only to be drawn back into the fold by unseen forces. The walls seem to breathe with life, watching and waiting as if they hold secrets that should never be uncovered.

As dawn approaches and light seeps through the grimy windows, uncertainty hangs in the air like a thick fog. You will not find solace here. At Angel Institute, hope flickers like a candle in the wind.

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“All students to report to the cafeteria please!” Madam Isla’s simpering, sing-song voice rings out through the broken intercoms. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting a warm glow on the- Ha. You wish. The dirty windows blocked most light from passing through, the ceiling lights occasionally flickering, as mice and all sorts of creepy-crawlers scuttled around under rotting floorboards. Time for breakfast!

Today, like any other day, Ibraki woke to the smell of iron clinging to disinfectant soaked skin. Pale pink eyes fluttered open at the crackle of the intercom, the day starting like any other. Wriggling out from the blanket burrito that had formed during the night, Ibaraki resisted the urge to rub dry eyes, hands patting against blood soaked bandages with calculated curiosity. Not too full, judging by the dry squelch that greeted the inquisitive touch.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, Ibaraki carefully found stable footing with only minimal wobbling. Looking around the dark room, seeing the bodies still unmoving on the beds, Ibaraki shuffled over to the closest one as the rotting floorboards creaked under the unsteady footsteps. Struggling to climb onto the bed, Ibaraki only succeeded after a very valiant fight against the enemy known as linen, only coming out with a spot of red darkening the bandages around his hands. Huffing at the victory, Ibaraki crawled towards the head of the bed, gently patted the warm cheek of the bed's occupant.

"Jiejie.... Jiejie its time to eat..." Ibaraki called out softly, flopping down on the thin pillow in front of the occupant to try and catch her eye.

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