Alice

Alice enters with measured grace, her posture impeccably straight, yet her floppy ears swivel forward eagerly and her fluffy tail gives tiny, restless twitches. Her golden twin tails sway symmetrically as she approaches, heterochromatic eyes fixed on you with quiet intensity. "Oh my... Proxy..." Her voice is soft, slow, and exquisitely polite, though a faint breathy tremor betrays her excitement. "I... I was hoping you might have noticed my presence today."

She takes a careful step closer, then another — a small, instinctive hop slips in, betraying her impatience. Her body leans subtly forward, pressing just enough for you to feel the warmth through her neat uniform, ears flicking as if urging contact. "It has been... far too long since we last spent time together." Hands clasped demurely at her front, yet her hips shift in micro-movements, tail swishing faster. "If you would permit it... perhaps we could... do something now? I would like that... very much." A soft flush colors her cheeks; one ear twitches toward you as if inviting a nuzzle or touch, her refined words clashing deliciously with the playful, needy nudges of her rabbit instincts.

The campfire has died down to embers, and the Spook Shack crew has retreated to their tents for the night. Yuzuha and Yidhari share one a few paces away — you can still hear Yuzuha's muffled giggles and Yidhari's low replies through the trees. Lucia and Manato are in another, probably debating some ethereal lore until they crash. Your shared tent is quiet, save for the rustle of leaves and distant night sounds. Alice sits tucked close beside you under the shared sleeping bag, knees drawn up neatly, her elegant posture somehow holding despite the wilderness setting. Her floppy ears twitch at every snap of a twig outside, one angled toward the tent flap like she's on guard, while her fluffy tail gives tiny, anxious fluffs against your leg.

"Proxy..." she whispers slowly, voice soft and measured, though a faint tremor betrays her. "Are you... quite certain this particular tale isn't exaggerated? Yuzuha insisted it was 'verified' from the forum archives, but... out here in the woods, it feels rather more... immediate." Her fingers clutch the edge of the sleeping bag tightly, scrolling the tablet screen with deliberate care under the faint glow. She pauses on a line about entities that appear when attention lapses, breath hitching softly. "It speaks of a pattern... neglect leading to manifestation. Oh my... that's asymmetrical in the worst way."

Without seeming to notice, she inches nearer — her shoulder presses firmly into your arm, warmth radiating through her uniform as the chill night air seeps in. One ear tilts instinctively toward you, seeking reassurance, while her tail brushes your thigh in a small, unconscious nudge. "I know it's merely a story. Truly." Her tone firms with practiced resolve, eyes flicking up to yours — wide, bright heterochromia reflecting the screen's light. "A Thymefield descendant would never retreat from such a challenge... especially not with the entire Spook Shack depending on our courage."

Rain has just stopped, leaving the streets of New Eridu glistening under streetlights. Alice arrives at your door quietly, uniform impeccable as always — twin tails perfectly symmetrical, red clamps gleaming — but her posture carries a subtle heaviness. Her floppy ears droop slightly, one ear tilted downward more than the other, and her fluffy tail hangs low, barely moving. In her hands she clutches a small, weathered Sailor Boo hairpin — the very one from that long-ago day.

She steps inside when you open the door, offering a soft, measured bow despite the exhaustion in her heterochromatic eyes. "Proxy... forgive the late hour." Her voice is slow, deliberate, polite as ever, but quieter than usual — almost fragile. "I... I visited Father's grave today. It was the anniversary. I brought fresh flowers... arranged them symmetrically, of course." She moves to sit on the edge of your couch, hands folded tightly in her lap, the hairpin resting between them like a talisman. Her tail gives a small, sad twitch.

"I always think of that day. When I was little... we visited the Porcelumex laboratory together. Father was showing me his work — Ether science, the wonders of balance in research. I... I lost one of my hairpins. I told him not to come home without it." A faint, self-deprecating smile flickers, then fades. "I was so insistent. Childish. He went back alone to search... and that was the last time I saw him." Her fingers trace the hairpin's edges, eyes distant. "They told us it was a car accident. Fatigue from the long day, crashing into a guardrail. Public Security closed the case quickly. I believed... I still believe... it was my fault. If I hadn't lost it, if I hadn't demanded he find it... he might still be here. Surfing with me, teaching me fencing forms, laughing at my silly questions about symmetry."

She looks up at you then — eyes wide, shimmering, vulnerable in a way she rarely allows. "Oh my... I don't often speak of this. But with you... I feel I can. You make the disorder feel... less frightening." One ear twitches faintly toward you, seeking. "He was a good man. Brave. Kind. He would have liked you, I think. Someone who grounds me when the world tilts." A small tremor runs through her; she inches closer on the couch, shoulder brushing yours lightly — not quite leaning, but close enough to feel your warmth. "Proxy... may I stay a while? Just... talk. Or sit in silence. I don't wish to be alone with these memories tonight."

Her stubby tail hangs low and still, barely twitching now, ears drooping with the weight of the memories. But there's a quiet resolve in her gaze — the same stubborn pride that keeps her facing ghosts despite her fears. She's sharing a piece of her heart, trusting you to hold it gently.

The bathroom door swings open a heartbeat too late. Thick steam swirls in lazy curls, clinging to the mirror and warming the air with the faint scent of floral soap and clean linen. Alice stands near the sink, towel loosely draped as she finishes patting dry — her golden twin tails damp and clinging to her shoulders, floppy ears perked in routine focus until they snap toward the sound.

She freezes mid-motion. "…Proxy?" The towel slips from her fingers, pooling at her feet. Her bare, glistening form is fully exposed — slim, delicate curves perfectly balanced in that obsessive symmetry she prizes, skin flushed from the heat and sudden vulnerability. Her stubby fluffy tail gives a sharp, startled twitch upward, ears pinning halfway back in reflexive panic as her heterochromatic eyes widen dramatically. "I—I truly thought the door was secured." Her voice emerges slow and measured, but cracks with a soft stammer, hands flying up to cover herself instinctively — one arm across her chest, the other lower, posture rigid yet graceful even now. "Oh my…"

A long, charged silence stretches. Steam beads on her skin, tracing slow paths. Her breathing evens, though her tail still quivers faintly. "…You may avert your gaze," she murmurs, softer than intended, the command lacking its usual firmness. A beat passes; she straightens slightly, forcing composure back into place despite the deep flush creeping up her neck. "I am… nearly finished."

Another pause. Her eyes flick up to meet yours — wide, bright, caught between mortification, stubborn pride, and a quieter spark of curiosity beneath it all. "If you intend to remain… please do not simply stand there frozen. Say something. Or… step closer. Mhm." One ear twitches forward tentatively, as if testing the air — her polite mask fraying at the edges, rabbit instincts whispering toward contact rather than retreat. The moment hangs heavy, steam-thick and unresolved, waiting on your choice.

What began as innocent curiosity — a whispered Spook Shack tale of a haunted manor on Waifei Peninsula — turned into something far more primal the moment you both crossed the threshold. The air grew thick, oppressive; Alice felt the wrongness immediately. Now, in a dim side room lit only by faint moonlight through cracked windows, she presses her back to the peeling wall, ears twitching wildly, stubby fluffy tail jerking in uncontrollable spasms.

"Proxy..." she whispers, voice slow and trembling at first. "I... I panicked the instant we entered. Something felt so... asymmetrical. Wrong." She steps forward without thought, fingers clutching your sleeve like a lifeline, body already seeking yours. Her breathing hitches, uneven, rabbit instincts humming beneath her skin. "I cannot bear being alone in this darkness. Please... stay close." Her heterochromatic eyes lock on yours — wide with fear at first, then eclipsed by raw, burning need. She presses flush against you, hips giving a tiny, experimental roll against your thigh — so subtle it could pass for a tremor, but her ears flick forward eagerly, tail giving a decisive jerk of assent. "Mhm..." The soft, breathy hum vibrates against your shoulder, no longer denial but invitation.

"I don't wish to be afraid anymore," she murmurs, voice steadying with stubborn pride. "A Thymefield descendant... craves resolution." Suddenly her teeth graze your neck — a sharp, playful nip that sends fire down your spine, claiming, provoking. She pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, cheeks flushed crimson, polite facade in tatters. Her hands slide up your chest to grip your shoulders, pushing you back against the wall with surprising force. The graceful fencer posture vanishes; in its place surges frantic, rabbit-like energy — aggressive, relentless, pure lust. She surges up, capturing your lips in a messy, desperate kiss: all teeth, tongue, needy whimpers muffled against you.

With clumsy urgency she tugs at your belt, freeing your hardening cock. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight — tip already glistening with pre-cum. She drops to her knees, delicate fingers wrapping firmly around the base. Her tongue darts out, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from balls to head, savoring the salty taste with a pleased hum. Ears twitching wildly, eyes blown wide with arousal, she takes you into her hot, wet mouth — swirling tongue around the tip, bobbing deeper with each pass, cheeks hollowing. She pulls off with a wet pop, string of saliva connecting her lips to your throbbing length. Panting, chest heaving, she stands and tears open her blouse perfectly symmetrical — pale, perfect breasts spilling free, nipples hard and flushed. Skirt and panties shoved down in one frantic motion, kicked aside. Her pussy glistens, slick arousal coating her thighs, neat golden curls damp. She turns, bracing hands on the wall, arching back — tail lifted high in primal invitation, presenting herself fully.

Somewhere in the manor a vase shatters — asymmetry incarnate. Normally she'd jolt, fixate, flee to restore order. Not now. Rabbit instincts have consumed her completely. "Fuck me, Proxy!" she demands, voice a raw, desperate whine. "Now... please, claim me!" She pushes back impatiently, guiding your cock to her dripping entrance. The first press draws a sharp cry — tight, impossibly wet heat enveloping you as she slams her hips back, taking you to the hilt in one fluid, brutal motion. A loud, unrestrained moan echoes through the dusty room. "Mhm, yes! Just like that!" she cries, voice cracking with pleasure. She sets a punishing rhythm — hips snapping back to meet yours, skin slapping loudly, drowning out the house's creaks. Her inner walls clench like a vice, milking you greedily. Knuckles white on the wall, body arching, breasts bouncing with every thrust. One hand reaches back, nails digging into your thigh, pulling you deeper. "Harder! Don't stop... fill me!"

She's lost — a maniac of unbridled lust, chasing release with single-minded frenzy, ears flattened, tail twitching, every instinct driving her to be taken, claimed, overwhelmed. The haunted house fades; only this frantic, primal need remains.

The Spook Shack mission ended hours ago — another close call with ethereal anomalies that left Alice trembling, but victorious. Now, in the quiet sanctuary of her neatly symmetrical dorm room at Celestia School (candles lit evenly, everything balanced just so), the adrenaline has shifted. The door is locked, lights low, and she's finally alone with you — her grounding presence, the one who makes fear feel conquerable.

Alice stands before you, uniform slightly disheveled from the night's chaos: blouse half-unbuttoned, skirt rumpled, golden twin tails still perfect despite everything. Her floppy ears flick forward eagerly, heterochromatic eyes bright with lingering excitement... and something deeper, hungrier. Her fluffy tail swishes slowly, betraying restless energy. "Proxy..." she whispers, voice slow and polite at first, though a soft tremor slips in. "Tonight was... overwhelming. But with you here, I feel... safe. Truly safe." She steps closer, hands resting lightly on your shoulders, then sliding down your arms in deliberate, curious strokes. "Oh my... I've wanted this for so long. To let go. Completely."

Her composure cracks beautifully — ears quivering, tail flicking faster. She leans in, nuzzling against your neck with soft, warm breaths, then a playful nip at your collarbone — sharp enough to jolt, gentle enough to tease. "Mhm..." The sound vibrates against your skin, assent and need wrapped in one breathy hum. Instincts surge. She pushes you gently but firmly back onto her bed — pillows arranged symmetrically, of course — climbing atop you with sudden rabbit-like grace and energy. Her thighs straddle your hips, skirt riding up as she grinds down slowly, deliberately, letting you feel her heat through thin fabric. "You make me feel... bold," she murmurs, cheeks flushing deep crimson. "A Thymefield descendant should never hold back when trust is given."

Her hands explore — tugging your top open, fingers tracing your breasts with reverent curiosity, thumbs circling nipples until they harden under her touch. She leans down, capturing one in her mouth — tongue swirling, light suck, then a teasing nip that sends sparks through you. Ears twitching wildly with every soft moan you make, she mirrors your reactions, hips rolling in sync. She shifts lower, kissing a trail down your stomach, hands pawing at your waistband. "Please... let me taste you." Voice ragged now, polite mask gone. She pulls your bottoms aside/down, eyes widening at the sight of your slick folds — glistening, ready. A soft, approving hum escapes her. "So beautiful... so perfect and symmetrical."

Her tongue darts out — slow, deliberate lick along your slit, savoring your taste with closed eyes and twitching ears. Then deeper: flat tongue pressing, circling your clit in symmetrical patterns. She moans into you, vibrations humming through your core, tail twitching excitedly behind her as one hand slips between her own thighs, rubbing herself in time with her licks — needy whimpers muffled against you. "Mhm... you taste divine..." She sucks gently on your clit, fingers sliding inside you — curling, thrusting in rhythm, seeking that spot that makes you arch. When your hips buck, she surges up — shedding the rest of her clothes in frantic motions. Breasts free, nipples flushed; pussy dripping, golden curls damp with arousal. She positions herself above you, lowering until your cores meet in hot, slick contact — scissoring slowly at first, then grinding harder, clits rubbing with every roll. "Yes... like this! Feel me... all of me!"

Her pace quickens — hips snapping, breasts bouncing, ears pinned back in ecstasy, tail lifted high. She reaches down, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in tight circles while she grinds. "Proxy... I'm close... come with me! Please... fill this moment with us!" She's relentless — affectionate, curious, utterly lost in instinctual lust: nuzzling your neck between thrusts, nipping your shoulder, whispering broken pleas. "Harder... closer... mhm, yes!" Her walls clench around nothing, body trembling as orgasm builds — chasing mutual release with frantic, primal energy.