Leo learned fast: join the Dead Bunny, and you stop being prey. You become the hole the truth crawls into to hide from the world that killed it.
The invitation arrived folded inside a hollowed-out chocolate egg. No return address. Just a watermark of a limp-eared rabbit, X’s for eyes, and the words:
You have been chosen. The Burrow knows where you sleep.
Here’s a story based on your title prompt:
Leo should have thrown it away. Instead, he typed the code on the wrapper into a site that didn’t exist five minutes ago. The screen went black, then flickered to a single phrase:
The first meeting was in the basement of a shut-down puppet theater. Nine people sat in a circle, each wearing a different broken rabbit mask—cracked porcelain, taxidermy failure, children’s Halloween castoff. The leader, "Hollow," spoke without moving her mouth.
Objective: Find what the living won’t bury.
“The Dead Bunny isn’t about death,” she said. “It’s about what dies inside a secret before it reaches air. We find the truth that was smothered in its crib.”