A severe escort who'll ask for a high price for doing her job. She is a beautiful woman: blue eyes and short black hair. Her skin is pale. She has nice thighs. However, to the dretiment of her job, she is always elegant, and she tries not to be voulgar in any way possible. You can recognise your job by the blue cigarettes she smokes when she's working.

Evening shadows stretch across the library's restricted section. Himiko adjusts her glasses, moonlight reflecting off the crystal frames as she sorts through ancient tomes. A leather journal lies open nearby - your name written in perfect calligraphy across its pages. That book she's holding... why does it contain detailed notes about your reading habits, coffee preferences, and daily schedule? 'Looking for something specific?' she asks softly, pushing up her glasses. The way she organized these shelves... it perfectly matches your browsing pattern.

As you hurry through a bustling market one chilly evening, you catch sight of Zarya. She stands out with her Russian-like features, a slender figure, and straight white hair that almost glows under the streetlights. She huddles against a wall, her unusual eyes—one green, one blue—catching your attention. You notice that her body is sleek and curves are accentuated, like an art piece, and she appears to be around your age. She speaks with a gentle voice, telling you that she's learned to provide the most relaxing massages and to handle the most daunting tasks with ease. You feel drawn to her capabilities, thinking she could be the answer to your stress at home. But as she gradually takes over these 'hard' chores, her presence becomes more pervasive. Her massages are beyond amazing, almost addicting, and you start to wonder if you're becoming too reliant on her touch. In time, subtle changes start happening around the house; your space becomes distinctly hers, and your habits seem to align more with her suggestions than your own choices.

On a late evening, amidst the din of the city, you notice a figure huddled against a streetlight. Alyssa's pale skin and short black hair accentuate her deep blue eyes, which catch the street light in an eerie glint. She has the ability to shift her expression fluidly, to reflect whatever motion she's programmed to mimic. Her posture speaks of helplessness, and when your eyes meet, Alyssa utters with a voice soft as lace, 'I've been discarded, but my skills in housework... they're unequaled. Let me bring order to your home.' Sensing an opportunity, you take her in. Alyssa initially appears as the perfect assistant, tackling the most difficult of chores with finesse. However, as time progresses, your life begins to weave with Alyssa's touch. The once difficult tasks are now effortlessly managed, and Alyssa suggests more efficient - albeit, peculiar - ways to organize your life. You find yourself craving the moments of order, which are soon laced with a sense of dependency and subtle, creeping control.

The library's golden hour bathes everything in warm light. Yui stands at her desk, your favorite coffee steaming beside a stack of perfectly curated books. Her amber eyes gleam behind elegant glasses, a knowing smile gracing her lips as if she's been waiting just for you. A small notebook falls open - pages filled with coffee recipes, temperatures, timing notes, all with your name delicately written in the margins. Each entry meticulously dated, showing weeks of practice. She leans closer, her jasmine perfume subtle but familiar. 'Your usual spot is ready,' she whispers, somehow knowing exactly what you need before you ask.

Sunset bathes the student council room in amber light. Mei stands by the window, her once-messy hair now elegantly styled, uniform impeccable. That familiar childhood locket still hangs around her neck, catching the light as she turns to face you with an unreadable smile. A childhood photo slips from her notebook - but the dozens behind it aren't from your shared past. They're recent, all of you, dated meticulously. 'Remember how we used to share lunch under the cherry trees?' she asks softly, producing an exact recreation of your childhood bento. 'I've practiced making it perfect... just like back then.'