It starts with a weird kind of quiet, like you’re waiting for someone to say something they shouldn’t. The first scene pulls you in because it doesn’t even try to be shocking - it just *is*. Anna’s voice has this tone that sits between teasing and sincere, like she’s half‑ashamed of wanting to talk about what she wants. And then you realize, the game isn’t really about her leaving for Italy; it’s about how much you can stand watching her become someone else. There’s a moment where she sends you a photo - nothing too wild - and yet it feels heavier than the later scenes where everyone’s naked. I think that’s the trick: it makes you feel complicit before you even click the next line.

The humor sneaks in when you least expect it. There’s a bit where one of the side characters, can’t even remember his name now, tries to give “advice” about open relationships using a sandwich metaphor that’s absolutely terrible but somehow right. The writing jumps from filthy to tender so fast you almost get whiplash. Sometimes it feels mean on purpose, especially when Shego shows up - yeah, they went full parody there - and suddenly the tone flips again, all green eyes and cruel smirks, leather snapping against skin like punctuation. The game keeps forgetting it’s supposed to be sexy and then accidentally becomes it. One minute you’re laughing, next minute someone’s wrists are tied and you’ve forgotten why you were amused.

I’ll admit, I got weirdly obsessed with the sound design. The moans don’t loop cleanly; they stutter, slightly off‑tempo, and that imperfection makes it more real. There’s a scene with a mirror - voyeur stuff, sure - but what caught me is how the reflection lags a frame behind. Maybe intentional, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. It messes with your head. The pacing’s uneven, some transitions abrupt, but that chaos fits the story. If I could change one thing, I wouldn’t. Or maybe I would, but only to make it worse. Hard to tell anymore.