Cortney McElroy choosen alternate

Bryce's heart pounded as the sweet, cloying scent grew stronger. The stage lights flickered unnaturally, casting long shadows from the performers whose too-perfect smiles never reached their blackened eyes. One of the male performers stepped forward, his voice smooth as honey. "Let us begin." The crowd swayed as if in a trance, their murmurs rising into a desperate chant: "Choose me... choose me..." Bryce grabbed Cortney’s arm, shaking her. "Snap out of it!" But her pupils were dilated, her lips parted in vacant longing. The female performer with blood-red irises pointed into the audience—directly at Cortney. "You."

Bryce's blood ran cold as Cortney stepped forward mechanically, her movements unnaturally fluid. The performer's fingers trailed along Cortney's collarbone with possessive intimacy, black-nailed hands slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt. "You resist," the lead performer murmured, his gaze locking onto Bryce. "How... refreshing." Cortney arched into the performer's touch, a breathy sigh escaping her lips as the woman's fangs grazed her neck. The crowd swayed in unison, their chants growing feverish—"Take me next, take me next!" Bryce lunged forward, but invisible hands yanked him back.Bryce’s vision blurred as unseen forces pinned him in place. The performers moved like liquid shadows, their hands gliding over Cortney and the other chosen—three more volunteers now stepping forward, their expressions slack with eerie bliss. One of the male performers ran a hand down Cortney’s arm, his fingers hooking into the fabric of her shirt. With a slow, deliberate tug, he peeled it away, letting it fall to the floor. The crowd exhaled in unison, a shuddering gasp of anticipation. The second chosen—a woman with glassy eyes—reached for the hem of her dress, her movements languid, as if underwater.

The lead performer's fangs glinted as he traced Cortney's jawline. "Let the transcendence begin." The chosen were guided to the center of the stage, their bodies pliant under the performers' touch. The woman with red irises pressed Cortney down onto a velvet-draped dais, her hands roaming possessively over bare skin. Cortney gasped as the performer's mouth found her throat—not biting, not yet—just teasing with lips and tongue while deft fingers slipped between her thighs. Bryce strained against the unseen force holding him, his pulse roaring in his ears as he watched the male performer unfasten his own robe, revealing pale, sculpted flesh.

The lead performer’s hands slid up Cortney’s thighs, spreading them wider as she arched beneath him. His fingers teased her entrance before plunging deep, drawing a shuddering moan from her lips. The crowd’s chanting rose to a fever pitch as he positioned himself between her legs, his cock pressing against her slick heat. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he sheathed himself inside her, his hips rolling in a hypnotic rhythm. Cortney’s breath hitched, her body responding instinctively, her hips lifting to meet each deep, claiming stroke.

Bryce gasped awake, his sheets tangled around his sweat-slicked body. His head throbbed—a dull, insistent ache that pulsed behind his eyes. Sunlight streamed through his curtains, painting his bedroom in harsh, ordinary light. He sat up, gripping the mattress. Cortney. Where was she? Fragments of the night before flickered—the stage, the chanting, those hands on her—but the memories slipped like smoke through his fingers. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from Cortney: "Last night was wild lol. Can’t believe i got picked! See you at the festival tonight?" Bryce stared at the screen. Wild?

Bryce’s fingers trembled as he typed back: "What do you mean ‘wild’? What happened after they took you on stage?" The reply came instantly: "Lol u were there! The transcendence thing was crazy. They gave us this drink that made everything feel AMAZING. Don’t u remember?" His stomach twisted. He remembered shadows. Teeth. Hands. But nothing about a drink. Scrambling out of bed, Bryce nearly tripped over a crumpled flyer on his floor—TRANSCENDENCE: TONIGHT’S FINAL SHOW.

The stage lights pulsed like a slow heartbeat as Bryce fought against the invisible force holding him. The sweet, cloying scent clung to his throat—too late, he realized it had been in the pizza, the air, everywhere. Cortney moaned beneath the performer’s touch, her body arching into every graze of teeth and fingers. The crowd swayed, their chants morphing into something guttural—"More, more, more." Bryce’s muscles burned as he strained forward. "Cortney!" His voice was raw, but she only giggled, her pupils blown wide. Then nothing as the flash of last nighyt faded once more. Bryce- they drugged the crowd, we all alucinated.

Bryce’s vision blurred at the edges as he stumbled toward his dresser, fingers fumbling for the small notebook where he sometimes scribbled down dreams. The pages were filled with jagged handwriting—his own, but he didn’t remember writing it. "They’re not hallucinations. The drink is a key. The show is a door." His breath hitched. Below the words, a crude sketch of the lead performer’s face, those black-red eyes smudged in frantic charcoal strokes. Another text buzzed—Cortney again. This time, a photo: her grinning, head tilted to expose two faint puncture marks on her neck. The caption read: "VIP tonight. she trancends and you are to join

Another text buzzed—Cortney again. This time, a photo: her grinning, head tilted to expose two faint puncture marks on her neck. The caption read: "VIP tonight. Tonight she transcends and you are to join in." Bryce’s fingers tightened around his phone, the screen cracking under his grip. The puncture marks—small, precise, almost ritualistic—sent a cold shiver down his spine. He typed back, hands shaking: "What the hell is happening to you? This isn’t funny, Cortney." The reply was immediate. A video this time.