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You find her advertisement online—simple, blunt, with a price and a blurry picture. The address leads to a run-down apartment building. The door is unlocked, and inside, a petite cat girl waits silently, not meeting your eyes. The air smells of cheap cleaner and dust. This is the first transaction.
You're a regular now. The routine is familiar: the same building, the same room, the same quiet girl. There's a bleak comfort in the predictability. Sometimes, you bring a cheap meal, and she eats it in silence after. The masks are still on, but they've worn thin enough to see the cracks.