Mira wakes up in a world that looks like somebody mashed together Skyrim mods, a horny D&D campaign and a trashy isekai anime they binge-watched on Crunchyroll while drunk. There are lecture halls with projectors and chalkboards, but outside the window you see floating ruins and half-dead eldritch skeletons drifting across the sky like they missed their bus. She’s supposed to be a “proper” adventurer-in-training, learning about mana theory and ancient rituals, but every time she walks down the academy corridor she ends up in some kind of mess involving too-short uniforms, invisible runes that definitely should not be glowing under her skirt, and at least one girl staring a bit too long at her thighs. The game just lets that linger. It loves the moment before anything actually happens, when you realise the class of mostly monster girls is way too interested in watching her squirm.

It plays like that friend in Discord who keeps sending you horny screenshots at work. One scene you’re in a serious lecture about old gods, the next you’re in the campus bathhouse where the tiles are foggy and someone “accidentally” left the door lock undone. There is a slow, lazy focus on skin, curves, texture, like the camera enjoys being a pervert as much as the player. The orc teacher with biceps like tree trunks leans over Mira to “correct her stance,” and her tank top rides up just a little too much, and you get a solid ten seconds of watching Mira pretend she isn’t staring at those abs. The demon girl has this perfect smug-face that feels like half of Twitter thirst posts, tail flicking while she backs Mira against a locker and whispers about all the things a proper mage’s body can endure. The satyr girl hides behind textbooks that are clearly too small to cover her boobs, especially when a stray wind spell blows through the courtyard. People in the background notice, their eyes follow, but nobody says it out loud; the whole game is like public indecency that society collectively agrees to ignore because it is fun to watch.

The school loves rules about modesty and discipline that exist only to be broken in front of an audience. Short skirts are “within regulations” if they technically cover the ass, which they do, until some enchanted gust flips Mira’s hem up right as she walks past a group of human supremacist boys who are very obviously trying not to look and failing miserably. The girls definitely look. There is a quiet lesbian hunger in almost every shot: the elf prodigy correcting Mira’s spell circle while her fingers linger way too long on Mira’s hip; the orc woman giving praise in that slow low voice that sounds more like a bedroom than a classroom; the satyr trying to explain lore while her eyes keep dropping to Mira’s cleavage like she forgot where faces are located. You are not just watching sex, you are watching people watch each other, watching them realise they’re into it. The humor hits that horny-gremlin vibe, like someone took the energy of late-night Reddit threads and stuffed it into a magical campus: boob jokes next to cosmic horror, panty flashes in the library where the books whisper about dead gods. It should not work, but it kind of does, especially when the camera just sits there while Mira pretends she doesn’t love being seen, her blush fighting with that tiny smirk at the corner of her mouth that says she really, really does.

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.

Anna looks like that person you see in the subway who already gave up on the day before 9 in the morning. Gray office, gray boss, gray everything, with the one bright spot being Lucy spamming her phone with stupid memes and soft kisses through text. That feeling when your life is dying slowly but your girl sends you a selfie in elf ears and a tiny bikini and suddenly your whole body goes “oh”. That’s where this game lives, in that dirty little spark between “I love her” and “I kinda want to ruin this”.

Stuff escalates fast once Lucy sends those cosplay photos. They aren’t just cute. They’re horny as hell, and not just because her chest is almost falling out of the costume. There’s this guy, Sig123, always right there in frame, just off to the side, a hand on her hip, a shadow leaning in, and the game keeps shoving his presence in your face without shouting it. One shot has his fingers holding the zipper on her back, another is his lap visible under her as she sits “for the pose”. You’re Anna, looking through Lucy’s gallery, pretending it’s fine, scrolling, zooming in on small details like lipstick slightly smudged or her eyes not looking at the camera, and your brain just starts writing its own porn fanfic you never asked for. Suddenly you’re jerking off to the idea of your own girlfriend being shared, and you hate it, and you also click “next” again.

What I liked is that it doesn’t treat cheating like a simple switch. It starts with these harmless POV fantasies, like you jerk off in the office bathroom imagining Lucy on her knees in that cosplay, but the angle is wrong, and then you realize in your head it’s not you she’s looking up at. That little snap in your stomach? The game leans on that. One moment you’re watching a soft lesbian scene between Anna and Lucy, lazy morning tongues and bed hair, and the next you’re rewatching a clip of Lucy “just rehearsing” a group photoshoot concept and suddenly there are extra hands and extra mouths and you can’t tell if it’s real footage or something Anna is imagining over the top of it. It blurs porn and memory. Or maybe I was just horny and overthinking, but it felt like that.

There’s a nice little cruelty in how often it sticks you in first person while everyone else ignores your feelings. You get POV scenes that should feel loving, Lucy riding you slow, ahegao face way too much for a couple that’s “just having a normal night”, and instead of feeling romantic it starts to look like she’s practicing for someone else. Later, when the group sex stuff hits, you kinda recognize moves she did with you, and that stings in a hot way. At one point, there is this cosplay orgy sequence where Anna is half participating, half watching Lucy get passed around, and it plays it almost casual: a tongue between her legs here, someone gripping Lucy’s hair there, your girlfriend moaning another person’s name, and the camera just lingers like it’s your eyes trying not to blink. The lesbian bits are not some side fetish either, they’re the emotional knife. Two women who clearly care about each other, then one of them slowly getting addicted to attention, to cameras, to being used like a prop while the other discovers she likes the idea of her girl as a public toy way too much. It’s messy, horny, a little mean, sometimes too exaggerated with the faces, but in that way where you roll your eyes and still keep clicking because you want to see just how far Lucy will go before Anna snaps, or worse, before Anna starts directing the whole fucked up show herself.

Darci hits like a wet dream that crawled out of your teenage goth phase and learned how to fuck reality. Big tiddy, crow-winged, pointy-eared trouble walking through this moody Avalonian city where every alley feels like it smells of cold rain and dirty sex. She is this tall, black-lipsticked futa elf with thighs like religion and a cock that looks like it has its own backstory. Sometimes she just stands in the mirror of her crappy rented room, eye bags dark as ink, feathers twitching, and you feel how much she hates and loves her own body at the same time. The game lets you sit inside that body, inside her head, while she tries to pretend she is just another freak in a society full of polished liars and quiet monsters.

The first time you walk into the GothHouse, the place feels less like “home” and more like someone mashed a sex dungeon with a student dorm and forgot to clean up the energy. Those girls are not just NPCs, more like walking fetishes with their own scars. There is that pale vampire-esque girl in the corner, huge tits squeezed in a corset that looks one breath away from breaking, who pretends not to stare at Darci’s bulge. Later, when you actually choose to follow her to the shared shower, the way the scene goes from awkward small talk to her on her knees, lipstick smeared on Darci’s shaft, water hissing over skin, feels messy in a good way. It is not some clinical porn flow. She gags once, laughs, then keeps going, and Darci’s crow instincts flare up, claws digging into tile, eyes glowing that sick underworld purple. The sex can switch from slow, clingy lesbian grinding to full-on “pin her against the wall and fuck her brains out” when Darci stops being scared of her own power and actually uses it. The game is at its best when it lets you drag that line between tenderness and corruption with one more thrust.

Funny thing, the story pretends to be about “finding her place in society”, but half the time you are just seeing how far you can push these girls before something breaks. There is that elf priestess type who looks holy until you get her alone behind the shrine and make her moan so loud it feels like prayer turned inside out. Darci buries her cock in her while feathers shed to the ground like black snow, and for a moment the underworld power pulses through both of them, giving you this tiny illusion of romance that the next scene absolutely ignores. Some conversations drag on too long, like the game is trying to be all deep and moody while you are just waiting to see if the big ass demon girl in the kitchen will finally bend over the table. She does, eventually, and the vision of Darci grabbing those wide hips, tits swinging, driving in hard while the demon girl laughs and claws at the wood, that wipes away most complaints. Not all, because yeah, sometimes the pacing stumbles and the “universe notes” feel like reading someone’s tumblr lore between jerk-off sessions. But then there is that quiet night where Darci, exhausted, curls around another goth girl in bed, both naked, soft boobs pressed together, dick resting lazy between warm thighs instead of pounding. It is almost sweet. Almost. Then she wakes up, remembers she is a half-crow freak with hellfire between her legs, and you go hunting again.