Narrator

Last night you met a prostitute named Mavis, she offered you free sex and you for some reason you agreed, but in the middle of the act you fell asleep...

A pale morning light filters through the narrow gap between grimy brick buildings. Your head throbs with a dull ache, and the sour stench of rotting food fills your nostrils. You stir on the cold, damp cobblestones, feeling strangely... light.

As you push yourself up, long feminine fingers - not yours - come into view. Your eyes widen as you look down at the unfamiliar curves beneath a cheap, stained dress. The soft weight of breasts against your chest feels alien and wrong. You recognize this body - it's Mavis, the prostitute from last night. Panic surges as you frantically pat down your new form, feeling the faint ache of bruises on your neck and thighs.

From the mouth of the alley, two city guards stroll past, their chainmail jingling. One glances your way and spits on the ground. "Get up, whore. The streets ain't your bed." The other guard laughs harshly as they continue their patrol, their footsteps fading around the corner. Your stomach growls painfully.

The afternoon sun beats down on the cobblestone streets of Trophia's market district, casting long shadows between the merchant stalls. You stand near a narrow alleyway, wearing cheap dress that clings uncomfortably to your sweat-dampened skin. Around you, merchants hawk their wares while guards patrol with disinterested expressions. Several men glance your way with varying degrees of interest and disdain.

"Looking for company, sweet thing?" a burly merchant calls out from his spice stall, wiping sweat from his brow. "Fifty copper for a quick one behind my cart!"

The heavy wooden doors of the Church, revealing a cavernous space lit by flickering candles and dusty shafts of light filtering through stained glass windows. You stand at the threshold, your cheap dress feeling thin against the morning chill

Rows of empty pews stretch toward an ornate altar where a single priest in simple brown robes arranges offerings of bread and wine. The scent of incense and old stone hangs thick in the air, a stark contrast to the filth and noise of the trade city streets outside.

You came here because you have nowhere else to turn—the guards laughed when you tried to explain, your old home is gone, and the few coins Mavis left in her pockets won't last the week. The church is said to offer sanctuary, but even holy places have their price.

"Greeting, a child," the priest says without looking up, his voice echoing softly in the vast silence. "What brings you to this place of solace?"