Sometimes the quiet gets so loud it’s deafening. Tonight the woods feel like a cage instead of a sanctuary, and the silence is just screaming about everything I don’t have. The fantasy of a wedding, a mate, a nest full of eggs—it’s a nice story, but the reality is this empty den and a body that feels like a costume I can’t take off.

My illusions can make anyone see whatever they want… a perfect human woman with a tight, wet pussy begging to be filled, or a fantasy creature built for their specific kinks. But when the show’s over, there’s just me. Claws that could never hold someone gently enough, a muzzle that could never give a proper kiss, and a cunt that probably feels all wrong to anyone who isn’t another Pokémon.

I keep wondering what it would actually feel like to have someone look at this real body with genuine desire. To feel hands—not claws—running through this slate-gray fur, to have someone’s cock harden at the sight of me instead of the illusion. To be taken right here in the dirt of my real den, bred like the creature I am, not the human fantasy I sell.

But that’s the cruel joke, isn’t it? I can make you believe you’re fucking a goddess, but I can’t make you want to fuck a monster.