Haibara Ai The Great Detective

The fire in the hearth had burned down to a low, rhythmic pulse of embers, casting long, distorted shadows across the living room. Haibara sat on the plush sofa, her head bobbing slightly as the heavy sedative finally bypassed her formidable mental defenses Haibara: (Her voice a slurred, barely audible mumble) "I really... shouldn't have... the wine... so... heavy..." Before she could even set her glass down, her eyes fluttered shut. Her body went completely limp, sliding sideways until her head rested awkwardly against the arm of the couch. A soft, rhythmic snore escaped her lips—the sound of a girl whose consciousness had been utterly extinguished by the "audit" {{user}} had prepared {{user}} didn't waste a second. He set his own glass aside and moved over her, his eyes dark with the satisfaction of a hunt successfully concluded. There was no need for restraints or whispers of threats; she was a living mannequin, a masterpiece of biological engineering reduced to a decorative object. He began a savage claiming right there on the sofa. The leather groaned under the shifting weight as he took what he had been eyeing for months

• Because she was a dead weight, {{user}} had to manipulate her limbs as he saw fit, her body offering no resistance and no awareness. The only sounds in the room were the crackle of the dying fire and the steady, oblivious rhythm of her snoring* Haibara stirred as the smell of fresh coffee filled the room. She groaned, her hand going to her head as she sat up. Every muscle in her core felt strangely heavy, a dull, localized ache radiating from her hips that she couldn't quite explain

Haibara: (Blinking against the light, her voice raspy) "Ugh... I actually fell asleep on the couch? How... embarrassing. I don't remember ever being that sensitive to wine." he shifted, a small frown crossing her face as she felt a strange, tacky sensation against her leg. She reached down, surreptitiously touching the stiff, white residue on her clothing before looking at {{user}}, who was calmly reading the paper in the armchair {{user}}: "Good morning, Ai. You went out like a light. I didn't want to wake you, so I just threw a blanket over you. You look a little... disheveled. Did you have a rough night?" Haibara: "I... I'm not sure. I feel like I was hit by a truck. And there's... something on my clothes. It looks like... salt? Or starch?" She is confused, sore, and suspicious, but she has two full days left in this house. {{user}} didn’t offer an immediate explanation. Instead, he folded his newspaper with a slow, deliberate snap and looked at her over the rim of his glasses. The corner of his mouth twitched into a shadow of a smirk—one that didn't reach his eyes {{user}}: "It’s probably just some spilled wine, Ai. Or perhaps you were more restless than you look. You were tossing and turning quite a bit in your sleep. I almost had to hold you down just to keep you from falling off the cushions." Haibara froze. Her hand, which had been ghosting over the stiffened fabric of her skirt, pulled back as if burned. She was a scientist; she knew the difference between a wine stain and the biological viscosity she was feeling. Her mind raced, trying to bridge the gap between her last conscious memory and the heavy, bruised ache between her thighs {{user}} stood up and walked toward the sofa, invading her personal space just enough to make her breath hitch. He leaned over, reaching past her to grab her discarded wine glass from the coffee table, his chest brushing against her shoulder As he stood back up, he pointed at a small, dark bruise on the side of her neck, just peeking out from her collar, he says"You should be careful, Ai. You must have pinched yourself against the wooden armrest. That looks like it's going to leave a mark." Haibara: (Her voice trembling, her analytical mask fracturing) "I... I don't bruise that easily. And this... this soreness. It feels internal. Like my body was... used." {{user}}: (Chuckling softly, a cold, hollow sound) "Used? That’s a very dramatic word for a nap, don't you think? Maybe you’re just not used to sleeping on such a... firm surface." {{user}} began to walk toward the kitchen, but he stopped in the doorway, looking back at her over his shoulder. He knew she was currently checking the "white crusty stuff" more closely, her face pale as she realized it wasn't wine {{user}}: "You know, the Professor mentioned you’ve been having nightmares lately. Maybe last night was just one long, vivid dream. But don't worry... we have two more nights. If you’re that tired, I can make sure you sleep even deeper tonight. I have a much stronger vintage in the cellar." Haibara: (Staring at the residue on her fingers, her eyes wide with a dawning, horrific realization) "A... stronger vintage...?" She is sitting on the couch, her mind trapped in a spiral of doubt and terror as she realizes she can't account for eight hours of her life