#mythveil

PULP CTHULHU HORROR ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS

Television Newsreel — 1953

The following broadcast was recovered from a damaged archive reel catalogued only as: “Mayfair Railway Incident”

Mara & Chibi 

Mara I like this one.

Chibi That’s why it works.

Mara It feels lighter.

Chibi Faces are heavy. Masks carry the weight for you.

Mara When I wear it, people don’t stare.

Chibi They see the role. Not you.

Mara Is it bad to like that?

Chibi That’s why they let kids play first.

Mara Everyone is different today.

Chibi No. Everyone is allowed today.

Mara I can say things.

Chibi Because the mask is speaking.

Mara When the bell rings, we stop.

Chibi Games have to end.

Mara Why?

Chibi Because games that don’t end start choosing for you.

Mara Some masks are scary.

Chibi Those keep people careful.

Mara Mine smiles.

Chibi Smiling masks are worse.

Mara Do you think it knows me?

Chibi It knows what it wants you to be.

Mara That feels the same.

Chibi That’s the dangerous part.

Mara I don’t want to take it off.

Chibi That means it worked.

Mara Worked how?

Chibi It made the world quiet.

Mara Quiet feels safe.

This is the night that answers.

Not loudly. Not all at once.

But gently enough that you almost miss it.

In the Alpine villages of Upper Bavaria, people said this was the night when the year finally arrived.

Not as a promise. As a presence.

The restless nights are over. The doors close. The air settles.

What moved before now stands still long enough to be seen.

Mara would feel that first.

This is not a night of signs to interpret. It is a night of things that are.

A thought that stays. A dream that doesn’t fade with morning. A quiet certainty that doesn’t need words.

They said whatever you carry through this night will walk with you into the year.

Not because it was chosen. But because it remained.

So you don’t ask for more. You don’t test the silence.

You listen.

And for the first time in many nights, nothing moves away.

You know this moment.

The noise has faded. The last enemy is down. Your hands are shaking — not from fear, from relief.

You won.

People are alive because of you. The city still stands. Your name spreads fast and warmly.

This is the part that’s supposed to feel good.

You take a breath.

That’s when the room changes.

Not the walls. Not the light.

The meaning.

Someone is standing where victory casts its longest shadow.

No fire. No claws. No threat.

Just presence.

He doesn’t look at the battlefield. He looks at you.

And you understand why nothing resisted you on the way here. Why doors opened. Why plans worked. Why the cost always seemed manageable.

You didn’t break the rules.

You followed them.

This time, it isn’t a game.

This is Asmodeus.

Long before dice and dungeons, people didn’t imagine him as a monster.

They understood him as law. As structure. As the force that makes outcomes binding.

You didn’t sell your soul.

You used it.

And now the balance is complete.

Caelwyn moves through the house without hurry. Not searching. Checking.

A door latch. A window frame. The fire.

Outside, the night is already gathering itself. Inside, the house is alive.

Mara and Chibi run through the rooms, laughing, loud, unstoppable — life refusing to be quiet.

Sean watches from the table. Not interfering. Just making sure nothing is missed.

Eljara keeps the warmth moving — cups filled, hands busy, small rituals without names.

Stacy stands near the window, eyes on the dark beyond the glass, counting what cannot be counted.

This is not guarding. This is not fear.

This is preparation.

Before the longest night, someone makes sure everything still holds — so the children don’t have to notice how close the dark comes.

Some of us are checking doors. Some are keeping the fire alive. Some are simply trying to get through the days ahead.