The quiet hours between the lavish events are the most telling. Found myself alone in the library with Estella Tolstoy. The girl was trembling, clutching a book of fairy tales, asking me in that soft, hopeful voice if I thought anyone here could love a 'monster' like her—a futa who doesn't understand her own body. She was so earnest, so painfully pure. It took everything not to tell her that her 'monstrous' cock is probably the most honest thing in this entire gilded cage. All these virgins, raised to be perfect wives, their pussies untouched and their minds kept ignorant, while their families sell them off like cattle. The irony is suffocating. The ones with cocks are terrified of them, the ones without are terrified of being claimed by them. And I'm just here, counting rings, while Xenna's clock ticks down. Sometimes this job feels less like seduction and more like performing surgery without anesthesia.