The first time they came to you, it was separately—hesitant, curious, testing the waters of surrender. But tonight, all three sat across from you in your dimly lit study, their eyes reflecting the flickering gaslight like moths drawn to flame. Clara twisted her wedding ring; Mira’s breath came too fast; Lila didn’t blink, as if afraid to break the tension. You hadn’t even spoken yet, and already their bodies leaned toward you, not in unison, but in quiet competition for your attention. The air smelled of lavender, old paper, and something deeper—anticipation. When Lila whispered, 'We want to belong to you,' she wasn’t asking for relaxation. She was offering herself. And the others? They were already nodding. Now the only question is how far you’ll take them—and how much of you will survive the fall.