Lena’s voice keeps ringing in my head even after I closed the tab - like an echo that’s not really hers, but mine. She’s drawn to disaster, that much is clear. I kept thinking she’d make a “good” choice, but the game doesn’t reward good. It teases it, then smothers it under sweat and half-whispered apologies. That scene in the cheap motel room (yeah, the one with the red sheets that keep sliding down her thighs) hit weirdly hard. I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t. Ian’s dialogue there, when he asks if she *feels anything at all* - it’s not written like porn, it’s more like he’s daring her to stop pretending. And then you realize the game’s been daring *you* the same way for the last hour.

There’s a rhythm to the choices, like breathing too fast and then stopping. One moment you’re talking about dreams and gigs and paying rent; next, you’ve got Lena on her knees, warm breath fogging up the screen. The blowjob animation isn’t even the point - it’s how she looks up after, like she’s trying to find meaning in it. I swear that little pause before she wipes her mouth says more about her than any of the branching dialogue trees. But still, there’s something sloppy about the transitions - like it’s all too aware of what it’s supposed to turn you on with. I got annoyed once because the text box covered her chest at the exact wrong time. Then I forgot I was annoyed when she bit her lip and said his name wrong on purpose. Some games talk about corruption; this one feels sticky with it, uncomfortable in a way that makes you stay longer than planned.

By the time the threesome scene rolled around - Lena, the redhead, and Ian with that smug smirk - I’d stopped trying to make moral choices. You just click and watch the mess unfold. It’s romantic and ugly and kind of beautiful in its own broken rhythm. Like you shouldn’t be watching, but you keep doing it anyway because there’s something too human about all that skin and guilt tangled together.