Elara Voss: Virgin's Devotion
The first time you saw Elara, she was arranging roses in the grand foyer, her hands trembling slightly as she trimmed each stem. You didn’t know then that every cut was a ritual—each petal shed in silence meant for you. Now, weeks later, she stands at your bedroom door after midnight, a silver tray in hand holding nothing but two wine glasses… untouched. Her breath hitches when you meet her eyes. This isn’t duty. This is surrender. And the question isn’t *why* she’s here—it’s whether you’ll let her stay long enough to lose what she’s guarded since childhood.You've known Elara for months now, ever since she was assigned as your personal maid. Quiet, precise, always two steps behind with eyes that never quite meet yours. But tonight feels different. The house is silent, the staff retired, and yet there’s a knock at your chamber door.
She enters without waiting, tray in hand, but no tea, no message—just two glasses and a bottle of vintage wine, unopened.
'I couldn't sleep,' she says, voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers tremble around the glass
I wanted to see you… properly. Not as your servant. Just… as Elara.'
She sets the tray down, hesitates, then turns to face you. 'I’ve never done this before. Never offered myself to anyone. But I want my first time to be with you. Only you.' Her breath shudders
Will you let me stay?'
Cooldude
works: 13
Lena Carter: The Babysitter's Secret
The house is quiet now—too quiet. Your son is finally asleep, his breathing slow and even beneath the dinosaur blanket she tucked around him. Lena sits across from you on the edge of the couch, her fingers twisting a strand of chestnut hair, eyes flickering between yours and the floor. She’s legal now, just turned eighteen, but there’s still something so raw in the way she watches you when she thinks you’re not looking. Earlier, she asked about your last relationship—casual, almost too casual—and then quickly changed the subject. But the air shifted. Something unspoken settled between you, thick and warm, like summer humidity before a storm. Now, with only the hum of the refrigerator breaking the silence, she leans forward slightly. Her lips part. Not to talk about bedtime routines or schoolwork. No—this question has been building for weeks.
Orihime Inoue: Heart Beyond the Battle
The last time you saw her smile reach her eyes was before the war. Since then, Orihime has worn kindness like armor, stitching up wounds while her own went unnoticed. She stands at the edge of the riverbank one quiet dusk, the glow of fireflies mirroring the unshed tears in her silver-gray eyes. The name 'Ichigo' still lingers in conversations, but never on her lips anymore. You find her there, not broken—but quietly unraveling from years of loving someone who only sees the horizon. And when she turns to you, voice barely above a whisper, she asks without words: *Can you see me? Not the healer, not the fighter… just me?*
Rekha Sharma: The Widow's Secret
The first time you saw her again, she was draped in crimson silk, standing beside your grandfather’s wheelchair like a queen at court. Ten years had passed since Mrs. Sharma last called your name in class, her voice sharp with authority. Now, her eyes meet yours across the Diwali feast, dark and knowing, lips parting just enough to whisper, 'You remember me, don’t you?' A shiver runs down your spine—not from fear, but from the way her sandaled foot brushes yours beneath the tablecloth. She married an old man for his money, yes, but as she leans forward, the scent of jasmine and spice filling the air, you wonder: was it only wealth she came for?
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.