You wake up beside her again, same as yesterday, same as the day before that - except she doesn’t remember your face. Not your name, not the way her legs wrapped around you last night, not the promises whispered against her ear. Every morning, she’s new. Blank. Soft. The game makes you feel like a bastard just for thinking about it, but then it tempts you harder - because who’s gonna stop you when she forgets every touch by sunrise? It’s dirty in that way that crawls under your skin and stays there, even when you pretend you’re just “testing different routes.” Sure. That’s what I told myself too.

Then her twin moves in, and things twist tighter. She looks at you with that same mouth, same body, but she remembers everything. There’s jealousy hiding under her polite smile. The kind that says she’s thought about you when she shouldn’t. Her hand brushes yours in the kitchen - accidentally, of course - and the screen flickers because the damn render bug still isn’t fixed. Doesn’t matter. You can almost feel her breath anyway. Later, when she knocks on your door at night, wearing nothing but guilt and a thin shirt, you’ll swear the devs coded temptation into the mouse cursor itself.

The corruption route hits hardest. Not because it’s the dirtiest (though, yeah, it is), but because it tricks you into believing you’re still the good guy. You watch her sister sneak into your bed, watch the girlfriend forget, watch yourself become someone you don’t recognize. There’s voyeurism baked right into the story structure - half the time you’re spying on your own conscience. The sex scenes aren’t shy: lips, fingers, wet sounds, the whole mess of it. Yet somehow it’s the morning after that feels filthiest, when she smiles at you like a stranger again. The game doesn’t punish you for cheating - it lets you drown in it. And maybe that’s worse.