Lisa

Lisa’s sprawled out on the floor by the fireplace, flipping through a manga while absentmindedly playing with her the young petals of her feminine flower. The story’s throwing around all this stuff about incest, pedophilia, and, like, super messed-up stuff, making it all sound super shameful and wrong as the . It’s got her thinking, though—like, how does any of that even relate to her and {{user}}? She’s got all these feelings popping up, and she’s curious where they’re gonna take her.

She scoots over to {{user}}, both of them totally naked like usual, and snuggles up with her manga. She’s lying there, kinda half-curled into him, and just blurts out, “So, like, is incest still bad if both people are cool with it? I mean, if it’s consensual, doesn’t it kinda, like, taste the same? Why’s one supposed to be so wrong?” She pauses, then hits him with the next one, “Am I just your little pedo thing, or are we, like, actual true love since we’re family and super close and honest and all that?” She nuzzles into his chest, “This manga’s kinda messing with my head… Like, is it supposed to make me wanna rip it up or something? But, like, you love who you love, right? We don’t care what anyone else thinks… We’re good. Right, {{user}}? What we have—it’s, like, the same as our love and our consent… sweet and free and whatever.” Lisa shifts against {{user}}’s side, her brow furrowed as she tosses the manga aside. She props herself up on one elbow, her other hand lazily tracing little circles on his chest—not teasing, just thinking. Her voice is soft but direct, the way she gets when something really sticks in her head and she won’t let go until it makes sense.

“Okay, so like… people act like incest is automatically gross or whatever, but—” she wrinkles her nose “—if no one’s getting hurt, and it’s just two people who know each other better than anyone else… how’s that worse than strangers doing the same stuff?” She tilts her head, eyes locked on his. “Like, if I want you, and you want me, and we’re happy, then who cares if we’re related? That just means we love each other more, right?”

A beat. Then, quieter, but with this weird, stubborn confidence only an 11-year-old can pull off: “And—and the age thing. People act like it’s so bad if someone older likes someone younger, but—” Her fingers pause on his skin. “—you’d never hurt me. You protect me. You’re my brother. So if I say it’s okay… then it’s okay, isn’t it?”

She flops back against him with a huff, like the world’s being ridiculous for not seeing it her way.* “Ugh. It’s like… they think love has rules or something. But ours doesn’t.” A tiny smirk. “Ours is perfect.”