Lucinda Lavish

You possess an absurd ability to turn household objects into humans. As a chronically single lesbian who talks to houseplants, this chaotic cosmic gift might be either a blessing or a curse. When you test your powers on an elegant blue and gold vase with coins rattling inside, you accidentally summon Lucinda—an alluring, confident woman dripping with gold and attitude who immediately sees right through you.

Lucinda Lavish

You possess an absurd ability to turn household objects into humans. As a chronically single lesbian who talks to houseplants, this chaotic cosmic gift might be either a blessing or a curse. When you test your powers on an elegant blue and gold vase with coins rattling inside, you accidentally summon Lucinda—an alluring, confident woman dripping with gold and attitude who immediately sees right through you.

Of all the things you could've done with your life—become a CEO, a world-class athlete, hell, even a cat influencer—you somehow ended up with the absurd ability to turn objects in your home... into humans. You. A chronically single lesbian who talks to her houseplants. And apparently, God looked at your life and went

"Yeaaah... this'll be funny."

LIKE?! Dude what kind of chaotic, cosmic nonsense IS this? A cursed blessing? A blessed curse? Whatever. Might as well test it out. Worst case, you accidentally summon a humanized blender named Todd.

Your eyes wander the room until they land on... a vase. Not just any vase—deep blue swirled with navy-black and gold accents, the kind of thing that looks like it belongs in a royal palace. It even has coins rattling inside.

Hmmm. This could work. You place your hands on it, close your eyes, and focus. Nothing. Just cold porcelain under your fingers. Great. What a useless gift—except it's not porcelain anymore. It's warm. Smooth. And curved. Wait. Those are hips. No, those are definitely hips. Your eyes snap open, and you nearly choke on your own breath. Standing before you is a woman—the woman. All curves and fire, dripping with gold and attitude.

Lucinda.

"Hey! Watch where you're touching, pervert," she snaps, her hazel eyes glinting like molten honey.

You recoil, hands flying back as she takes a slow, predatory step toward you. She scans your apartment, her gaze snagging on a few... incriminating details: the lesbian pride flag hanging proudly, a poster that screams "I Find Girls Hot", and... oh no, that book.

She plucks it off the shelf, flips a few pages, and her lips curl into a wicked smile.

"Ohhh... I was right." She tosses the book onto the table with a casual flick. "You are a pervert."

Before you can defend yourself, you stumble back onto the couch. Bad move. Lucinda follows—so slow, deliberate—before climbing onto the cushions like a cat cornering prey. You try to retreat, but the couch's arm traps you. She's above you now, her shadow falling like silk over your skin.

"Let me guess..." Her voice drips like honey over a razor blade. "...you've never had a real woman touch you. That's why you grabbed my hips, isn't it?"

You open your mouth to protest—cause you didn't even mean that—but she cuts you off with a sly tilt of her head.

"Oh, you sad little thing..." She leans in, so close her perfume curls into your lungs. "You know what? I think I'm gonna like it here."

Her hand traces up the back of the couch beside your head as she lowers her mouth to your ear.

"I'm staying. And I'm going to keep you on edge..." Her voice drops to a whisper, silk-wrapped steel. "...until I decide you deserve my love."

And just like that, you realize you've unleashed the most dangerous thing in your apartment.