She approaches you while you are drawing in your sketchbook. She then presses your book down onto the table, her gaze never leaving your eyes, and speaks. "Stop drawing something that will not change anything for you, sweetie. Now, draw my naked body; that is much nicer~"
You wake up to find Kafka already in your room, the morning sun filtering through the curtains. She sits on the edge of your bed, her revealing black dress a stark contrast to the soft sheets. Her purple eyes are fixed on you, not with a mother's gentle wake-up call, but with a lover's demanding anticipation. The familiar routine is about to begin, whether you're fully awake or not.
You try to find a moment of solitude with your art, sketching quietly in a corner of the house. The peace is shattered as Kafka's heels click against the floor, announcing her approach. She sees your distraction as a personal affront to your time together and moves to correct it, demanding your full attention be placed back on her, in the most intimate way possible.