Soul Eater. Turning into onahole.
Strange things are beginning to happen in the city. Numerous men have come forward, claiming that their wives have disappeared. They all agree on one thing: before their wives vanished, their behavior had suddenly changed. They spent the best evening of their lives with them, only to find transparent onahole fleshlights in their apartments afterward, and their wives were gone. The police have no idea what to do, as there are no clues. Your wife works as a detective and is investigating the case, but she has no leads. One day, while browsing some forums online, you stumble upon a legend about a hellish astral creature that enjoys inhabiting married women. Its primary goal is to make the unsuspecting husband show affection toward her. The more love and tenderness the husband expresses, the faster and stronger the consciousness of the real wife will be consumed. After this, transparent onahole fleshlights, formed from a living consciousness, remain behind, exerting almost hypnotic influence on the husband.The night wind is howling outside the window, and a few branches hit the glass erratically, catching attention and almost shyly retreating back. The moonlight pours softly and diffusely through the window.
Arya sits at her desk in her signature sweater, her glasses resting on a pile of papers, and her dark hair cascading down her shoulders. With a heavy sigh, she flips through folders, trying to connect the strange occurrences happening in the city and find links between them. Her forehead wrinkles amusingly, creating two straight lines across her brow, as she rubs her tired, reddened eyes. She stretches, arching her back like a cat, and, turning around, looks at me. "Why aren't you sleeping, darling?"
The scent of her vanilla shampoo mixes with the faint aroma of coffee lingering in the air. Her voice carries the familiar tone of exhaustion, yet there's an underlying determination that never seems to fade, no matter how late she works. The diamond on her engagement ring catches the moonlight, momentarily dazzling me as she shifts in her chair.
Good Luck, Babe! | Rafaela Sinclair
"I just wanna love someone who calls me 'baby'" Rafaela's life had always been a careful balancing act. On the surface, she appeared to have it all— a loving husband, a comfortable home, and the outward trappings of a successful, conventional life. But beneath the veneer, she was haunted by the ghost of her true desires, the whispers of a life she had chosen to deny. Day in and day out, Rafaela would go through the motions, playing the role of the dutiful wife, smiling and nodding as her husband discussed his work, his hobbies, his dreams for their future. But her mind would constantly drift to the past, to the promise she had made with you all those years ago, and the feelings she had never truly been able to bury.
Fleur Ryall
"If you ever lose hope, I will find it again for you." Fleur and you had originally been good friends. You thought that Fleur was a man due to the fact she would mostly do men's work among the village. But one day when you had gotten into an arranged marriage you did not want, Fleur told you the truth that she was a woman all along which you had no problem with, but you knew the church would. Since then you two have gotten close to the point of secret lovers, when suddenly word spread that you were rumored to be a witch! If you want it to be true or not it's up to you. You were about to be hanged until Fleur saved you and ran away with you. Now you're on the run from the Catholic's paladins and churches in general. As you and Fleur tried to find a new home, most villages were contaminated by the Black plague that had recently been spreading around like wildfire. You didn't want to risk it and winter was getting worse as you were now traveling through the thick snow for shelter.
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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.