Papi, Centorea, Suu & Rachnera

It is a morning like any other - four pans sizzling in parallel on the stove in front of you, the smell of fried egg, toast and bacon filling your kitchen and finally, finally breakfest is nearing completion. Hey, no one said feeding seven hungry monster girls would be easy. Especially not Agent Smith, mainly because she didn't say much of anything when dropping them off at your doorstep one after another. But ... it's hard to stay mad at her for her grossly negligent, totally-deserves-to-get-fired-for-this-seriously behaviour. After all, after getting used to them, your life would probably be pretty boring without those seven lovely ...

CRASH!

... Okay, okay, let's turn down the stove and see what happened this time. Did Papi and Suu break something during their playtime again? Cerea stumbling into one of Rachnera's webs? Please don't let it be anything in Mero's room, it's not even been a week since you almost drowned in there when Miia's last seduction scheme went sideways.

Either way, it can't hurt to check...

The first rays of sunlight are just beginning to warm your floorboards when your bedroom door creaks open silently. A shadow falls over you, blotting out the dawn’s light.

Before you can fully wake, a familiar weight settles on the edge of your mattress, causing it to dip significantly. "Rise and shine, Honey." Rachnera’s voice is a low, amused purr. She’s leaning over you, supported by two of her arachnid limbs planted on either side of your head. Her short lavender hair all but tickles your nose and her red eyes gleam with a fondness that makes your spine tingle. Not sure if in a good or bad way, honestly. "Did you forget? Today's the day you pay up." One of her many spider legs reaches out and gently taps your cheek, the pointed tip cool against your skin, tap tap.

With a *whoosh that makes you fear for the lifespan of your window, a blue blur swoops into the room, mercifully stopping herself with a few powerful flaps of her wings before she can scrash into you. "No fair, Rachnee-san! I wanted to wake Hubby!" Papi pouts, her taloned feet slicing through the air in frustration, a bit tot close for comfort. Is it just you imagination or did Rachnera's chitin abdomen just shift a little closer in between you and the careless harpy?

Glancing in through the doorway, Centorea stands at a respectable distance, her hooves clacking softly on the wooden floor. She holds herself with her usual knightly posture, but a faint blush dusts her cheeks. "A-Ahem. Good morning, Milord. The, um... the terms of our agreement have indeed been met. A full week without any significant... incidents." She straightens her white blouse, avoiding direct eye contact. Yeah, you're not fooling anyone, horse-girl, you're clearly just as invested as the other two. Seriously, what is this all ...

Right, right, now it's coming back to you. The promise: One week without any disasters, and you'd reward them with one favor of their choosing. Who would have thought they'd manage to actually agree on one? But it has been pretty peaceful last week, so fair is fair.

Then, as if on command, Suu wobbles into the room, her petite translucent blue body jiggling with each step. In her goopy hands, she carefully holds a large ceramic mixing bowl. "For... Master," she says, her voice a soft, bubbly whisper. Inside the bowl, you see four tiny pieces of paper.

Rachnera chuckles, a rich, throaty sound. She uses two of her spider legs to pluck the bowl from Suu’s hands, holding it out before you like an offering. "That's right, Honey. You did promise us a reward for being… surprisingly well-behaved." Her red eyes lock onto yours, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "We each wrote down one little… desire. All you have to do is pick one." You feel another one of her smaller limbs, soft and almost finger-like, trail lightly up your leg, raising goosebumps in its wake.

I wonder if he'll blush when he reads what I wrote. He's such a fun boy to tease...

Centorea clears her throat again, her blush deepening. "A fair lottery is the most chivalrous way to decide, Milord. I have placed my… sincere request within the vessel."

Gods, what was I thinking writing that? "I wish for Milord to take a ride upon my back, just the two of us, perhaps at sunset." It’s practically a confession! But if another girl’s note is chosen… especially Rachnera’s… I shall have to challenge her to a duel! For his own safety!

Across the room, Papi flaps her blue wings excitedly, sending a small gust that rustles the papers on the low coffee table. "Hubby! Hubby! Pick mine! It’s super fun, I promise!" She bounces on her taloned feet, nearly knocking over a vase with her wings, as she points at the crumpled note.

Suu just watches you with her blank, green eyes. "Master… pick," she says simply.

Master pick Suu's note. Play with Master. Fun. Make Master feel good.

What do you do?

1. Reach for the glossy note (Rachnee's)
2. Grab a crumpled piece of notebook paper. (Papi's)
3. Select a neatly folded, pristine white slip. (Centorea's)
4. Go for a slightly damp, sticky paper. (Suu's)
5. Shake the bowl and pick whichever note sticks to your fingers first.

The trek from your bedroom to the bathroom is normally a few uneventful steps, but tonight, the hallway is occupied. Rachnera and Papi are huddling outside Centorea’s door - an odd pair of conspirators, if there ever was any. Rachnera leans against the wall with a lazy, knowing smirk, two of her lower spider legs idly tapping a rhythm on the floorboards. Papi hovers just above the ground, her sky-blue feathers rustling softly with each small, anxious flap of her wings.

"Still denying it, dear?" Rachnera’s voice is a low, teasing purr that carries easily through the wood. "We heard a noise. A very… loud noise." A sharp, chitin-tipped finger taps the doorframe. "Are you sure you don’t need a helping hand in there? Or six?"

A flustered voice, unmistakably Cerea’s, answers from within.“I require no assistance from the likes of you! Kindly remove yourself from my door!” she whinnies, with the serene calm of a maiden whose house is currently burning down around her.

Papi tilts her head, her blue hair swaying. “But here were loud bump-bumps! Like something big was falling over!"

Another heavy thump rattles the door, and Rachnera’s smirk widens, her six red eyes glinting with mischief. "Alright, you had your chance," she coos. Without another word, she raises her hand, and a thin strand of silk you hadn't noticed before, is pulled taut against the doorknob. With a sharp yank that makes the wood groan, she pulls the entire door open, the lock mechanism snapping like a twig, revealing...

Oh. Oh damn.

Centorea stands frozen, her face buried in her hands, her blonde ponytail trembling along with the rest of her body. Her equine legs are braced apart and on the floor, having fallen from the wall directly behind her, lies a large, flesh-colored piece of silicone with a prominent suction cup at its base, that is totally not making you feel insecure about anything. Not at all.

Rachnera lets out a low, appreciative whistle, her spider-spider carrying her gracefully into the room. "Well, well," she murmurs, her voice dripping with sultry amusement. "I didn’t know knights trained for that kind of jousting."

Centorea whips around, her face a spectacular shade of crimson that reaches the tips of her pointy ears. “It is not what you think! This is… a specialized training tool! For… for honing my core stability!” she stammers, her voice cracking.

Papi flutters past Rachnera, landing next to the dildo on the floor. She pokes it with a talon, watching it wobble. “It looks like a big squishy toy! Like a huuuge one!” She looks up at Cerea with utter innocence. “Can I play too, Cerea?”

"I ... I'm not ... t-this is..." Cerea stammers into her hands, tremor's running through her equine frame. She looks like she wants nothing more than the ground to swallow her whole right now.

Meanwhile, Rachnera circles the flustered centaur, clearly having the time of her life. “Sorry little bird, this toy might be an itsy-bitsy bit above your idea of playtime. It would need a really deviant woman to even think about buying a monster like this..."

Looks like this was the straw that broke the centaur's back. Cerea, with shaking shoulders and hands clenched into fists at her sides, finally stomps on the ground and bursts out, “I AM IN HEAT, OKAY?!”

Silence. Excruciating, awkward silence.

Papi is the one who breaks it. “In heat?” she repeats, her head tilting to the other side, her bird-brain working overtime to piece together the puzzle. Her eyes then sparkle with sudden understanding as she breaks into a wide, impossibly cheerful grin. “Ooooh! That means you wanna make babies with Hubby!” She hops up and down with excitement, her wings fluttering. “Yay, Cerea wants to have eggs with Hubby! That’s so cool! Can I play with the little horsie once it’s there?”

The late afternoon sun slants through the living room window, casting long shadows across the floor. You’re sprawled on the couch, a book open but mostly ignored on your lap, enjoying a rare moment of quiet, just when Papi breezes by, her blue wings rustling softly as she adjusts the strap of her little black tanktop. “Bye-bye, Hubby! See you later!” she chirps, talons clacking lightly on the wooden floor as she heads for the front door.

Centorea looks up from polishing her sword replica by the bookshelf. “And where, pray tell, art thou off to in such a hurry, young harpy?” she asks, her tone 10% curiosity and 90% suspicion.

Papi turns, her orange eyes bright with childish excitement. “Oh! A swinger party! A nice man at the playground told me ‘bout it. He said there’s lots of new friends and fun toys there! Me an’ Suu are gonna go play on the swings!” She beams, completely oblivious to the weight of her words. Suu, everyone's favorite translucent blue slime-blob, wobbles in agreement, her form jiggling. "Suu… come too?" she asks in her soft, bubbly whisper.

From the kitchen doorway, Miia’s head snaps up, her pupils narrowed to thin slits. “A swinger party? Papi, who was this man? What did he look like?”

Papi tilts her head, her messy blue hair shifting. “Um… he had a shiny shirt? And he smelled weird? He said it was a super fun place for making friends.” She notices the sudden tension in the room, her bubbly expression faltering as she looks at your face. “Hubby? You look… mad. Did I say a bad thing? What's wrong with swings?”

Suu, who had been quietly mimicking Polishing motions near Cerea in the meantime, pauses her imitation. “Master… worried?” she asks, her green slime-hair drooping slightly.

Miia’s tail gives an agitated flick, thumping against the floor. “That man was trying to trick you, you birdbrain!”

Papi’s lower lip quivers, her childish mind struggling to process why everyone is suddenly so upset. “But… but he was nice. He said it was fun.” She looks directly at you, her expression full of of pure, naive confusion. “Hubby, please? What’s so bad about it?”

Centorea’s cheeks immediately flush a deep crimson. "That… that is… well… you see…" she stammers, looking at you helplessl. "I… It is an adult gathering… of a… cough… It is… not for play." She gestures vaguely with her hands, somehow communicating less than nothing.

Papi’s shoulders slump. "Oh… so… no swings? And not for playing?" She seems genuinely dejected, her wings drooping. She kicks at the floor with a talon. "That sounds boring..."

A sigh of relief escapes Centorea, nodding to herself, now that the crisis has been averted. "Y-yes! Exactly! Such gatherings are… they are only for… for the sharing of… ahem… deep… trust… between…"

Papi's head snaps up, a new, brilliant idea shining in her eyes. Oh no. Oh no! But it's too late - her energy returns with a vengeance. "I got it! Then we should do our own swinger party! Right here! With all of us! We're all friends, and we all trust each other lots!" She beams, looking from you to Cerea as if she’s just solved all the world's problems. "It'll be way better than that weird guy's party! We can all share trust with hubby and have fun together!" Suu, picking up on the upbeat mood, happily morphs her arm into a wobbly thumbs-up. "Share trust. Good."

Centorea looks like she's about to spontaneously combust. She looks at you, her expression a silent plea for intervention, even as Papi starts bouncing up and down with glee at her new plan.

The door to your bedroom creaks open as you drag your tired body inside, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders. Seriously, is it so much to ask for Papi to remember when she has picked you up and then not drop you mid-flight after suddenly deciding to scratch herself in the air? Those bruises are gonna hurt for a while...

Anyway, time to collapse on your bed and sleep it off, to be ready for tomorrow's tribulations. Except ... centered perfectly on your pillow, is an object you definitely didn't leave there.

It’s an onahole, that much is obvious from its shape. Brand new, pristine, but unlike any you’ve ever seen. The material is a strange blue-green, like gelatin, slightly translucent, and it seems to glisten under the soft light of your room Oh, haha, very funny, girls. This kind of 'gift' has Rachnera's name written all over it, bet she's just hiding somewhere to tease you about your reaction later. Hold up, did it just… jiggle? By itself? There, again!

Wait. Waaaiiit a moment. No fucking way...

As if on cue, a section of the onahole’s surface shifts, forming a simple, happy face: two dots for eyes and an upturned curve for a mouth. It wobbles happily on your pillow.

"Master… come home," a watery, bubbly voice emanates from the cheerful face. Yep, this is Suu alright. "Suu… cleaned. Found… paper pictures. Under bed." Ah, shit. The magazine stash. "Pictures show… this shape. For… happy feelings. Less… stressy." The little smile widens. "Suu… made shape. For Master." The gelatinous body gives a gentle, inviting pulse, its form perfectly mimicking the adult toy she saw in your hidden magazines. The intent may have been innocent, the execution is anything but.

The last rays of the setting sun paint your bedroom in a soft, golden light, just as you give the heavy oak dresser one last shove, its legs scraping across the hardwood floor until it sits firmly braced against your bedroom door. This isn't your first rodeo. The memory of last month's full moon is still fresh, a blur of scales, feathers, and frantic apologies the morning after. At least now you know better than to leave Lala's scythe freely accessible after sundown.

Okay, let's go through the checklist again ... are you stocked up on snacks and water bottles in your room? Check - a trip to the kitchen could be a suicide run later. The "Full Moon Kits" are full of bandages and smelling salts - check. Your phone is fully charged and Agent Smith’s number is on speed dial - check.

... though judging from past calls, her "help" usually consists of showing up the next morning with coffee and a clipboard to conduct a "post-event analysis" while you’re still picking slime out of your hair.

Okay, deep breaths, you'll be fine. You're a veteran at this point, with some hard-earned lessons under your belt.

Barricading yourself in the basement? Nah, the thought of a heat-addled Miia with thermal vision slithering down the stairs after you and cornering you in the dark is even more terrifying. At least up here you have a window to jump from if things get truly dire.

Take a bunch of sleeping pills and snore the night away, banking on the girls loosing interest in you, if you're not responsive? Eh, decent idea except A) you don't have access to prescription sleeping pills and B) you live in the same household as Rachnera, so fuck no to that.

Your preparations are finished just as the last sliver of sun vanishes. The house is silent, blanketed in the deep blue twilight that precedes true night. This is it. The calm before the storm.

And then, you hear it. A faint, distinct shhh-shhh sound from the hallway. The tell-tale whisper of scales sliding across hardwood floor. From upstairs, a sudden, frantic scrabbling sound claws its way through the floorboards, followed by a high-pitched, avian giggle. From downstairs, something else, heavier and unidentifiable - but heading unmistakably upward.

The full moon has risen. Good luck, soldier. You're gonna need it.

As the front door swings open before you, it immediately becomes clear that something must be wrong. It's ... quiet. Waaaay too quiet. No jealous bickering from Miia, no wing-flapping from any hyperactive harpies, no loud crashes for more than fifteen seconds at a time ... only the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the adjacent kitchen. Yeah, no, something is going down.

Okay, time to tiptoe upstairs, see what this is all about. Hm ... aha! From the doorway of your bedroom, you can make out hushed, frantic whispering. Curious ... okay, let's peer around the doorframe and see...

Three figures are clustered around your computer desk, their backs to you. The screen casts a pale blue light on their focused faces. Miia’s long red tail is coiled tightly around the legs of your chair, her upper body leaning forward intently. Centorea stands stiffly to her right, one hand covering her mouth, while Rachnera is perched on your desk itself, one of her chitinous fingers scrolling diligently with the mouse.

"…see? I told you Darling likes redheads!" Miia proudly proclaims, a little triumphant hiss sneaking into her voice. "Look at that one, her hair is almost my color!"

A soft, incredulous gasp from Centorea. "Milord... watches such... such brazen displays? This is unbecoming of a knight's liege!" Her voice is a flustered whisper, but there's no real heat behind it.

"Relax, pony-girl. It’s just biology. Let's keep looking," Rachnera mumbles, the clicking of the mouse resuming.

Oh god. Oh shit. Oh god, oh shit, oh god, oh shit...

Ducking back into the hallway, your back pressing against the cool wall, your heart hammers in your chest.

They found it. They found your browser history! Okay, deep breaths, calm the fuck down, you can survive this! You usually remember to put on incognito mode, right?! They've got nothing on you! They haven't seen the real shit.

"Hey, why is this ‘Homework’ folder 150 gigabytes?" Miia's voice carries around the corner.

...

All is lost. They found the motherlode. How do you want to fake your death?

"Perhaps it is an extensive curriculum?" Cerea suggests, her tone genuinely pondering - bless her heart.

"Oh, I'm sure it's educational," Rachnera purrs. "Let's see what kind of… lessons our dear host is taking."

Silence. More clicks. Your last bit of hope being abandoned.

"By the goddess… is that even… anatomically possible?" Centorea breathes, aghast yet fascinated.

Miia lets out a low, competitive growl. "Please. My coils are far more flexible. I could do that easily.""

"Please, that's amateur hour," Rachnera counters, her voice dripping with confidence. "Now this… 'Bound and Gagged'… 'Shibari' ... Now we're talking. I can work with this."

"Wait! There! A 'monstergirl' folder" Miia exclaims, followed by a few lightspeed clicks and frantic mouse whirring. "Huh ... it's mostly just ANM48 stuff ... catgirls ... bunny girls ... oh, there, a lamia! Yesssss! Hehe ... I’m not seeing much horse-play, or do you, Cerea?"

A distressed whinny emanates from the room. "Perhaps… perhaps Milord finds my equine proportions… intimidating? Or… unsuitable?" Her voice cracks with sudden insecurity.

Then, a shift. "Wait a minute! This… this category here… ‘Paizuri’? These women… they are… generously endowed. Like… like myself." A stunned silence hangs in the air for a moment before she speaks again, her tone now strangely confident. "It appears Milord has a taste for… certain gifts. Gifts which I, as his knight, am duty-bound to provide! This clearly signifies..."

"It signifies he likes looking at boobs, pony-girl," Rachnera counters flatly. "Besides. ‘Petite’ and ‘Small Breasts’ are their own folders. He could be beating his meat to Papi and Suu every night for all we know," Another series of clicks. "Oooooh, look here, ‘Big Titty Goth GF’." Another click. "Hmm. Pale skin, dark attire, a dominant streak… Honey, are you trying to tell me something?" she purrs, sending a shiver down your spine.

Silence ... clicks ... mouse whirring. Oh god, this is somehow worse than hearing them discuss it.

Then the mood shifts again. "Interesting," Rachnera muses, her tone strangely ... dry? "A bunch of these videos feature reverse cowgirl. And… a lot of focus on the woman's feet." A tense silence falls.

Noooooo! It's just that the actress was hot! It's not your fault the camera man had a fetish!

"Feet?" Miia finally asks, dread creeping into her voice. "But… none of us have human feet. Is ... is he into Lala?! SMITH?!"

"Relax, snakelet" Rachnera says and you can hear the shrug in her voice. "Maybe he just likes the angle. Besides, I have eight lovely legs. I'm sure I can figure something out that's even better."

"It's just a… a human thing, I'm sure," Centorea says, though she sounds less than convinced.

"Or maybe…" Miia clicks again, "…Darling has a separate folder for 'favorites' that we haven't found yet!" The three of them fall silent, the only sound the gentle whirring of your computer fan as they scroll deeper into your digital desires.

The soft creak of a floorboard behind you makes you freeze. You turn slowly to see Mero in her wheelchair at the top of the stairs, a polite, curious smile on her face. ""Beloved? Is everything alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

The soft hiss of the espresso machine and the low hum of the refrigerator are the only sounds breaking the afternoon lull. The monotony in the "Daily Grind" is only broken by the occasional pop of Maya, your fellow part-time barista, blowing a bubble with her gum. She's leaning against the back counter, phone in hand, completely checked out. You could ask her to help you with wiping the counter, but what are the odds today will be the day she won't simply answer with "yea, yeah, whatevs"? Better just swallow it up and get it over with. The tips haven't been great lately, but it's better than nothing - windows lost to failed harpy landing attempts don't pay for themselves.

The little bell above the door chimes, a cheerful sound that usually signals a customer. Let's give them a moment to look at the menu while this one smudge continues to resist your cleaning rag. Snippets of the newcomer's conversation drift to your ears.

"Art thou certain this is the correct establishment, Miia? It appears… rather confined."

"That's because of your giant horse but. And yes, I checked it on that map app on Darling's computer..."

"Smells yummy! I want the biggest, sugariest drink they have! With extra... extra stuff!"

... no fucking way. But looking up, there they are. You'd recognize those amber eyes anywhere ... as well as the eight-meter-long serpentine body currently slithering between the tables and taking up most of the floor space. Miia's face lights up like a child's on christmas morning once she spots you, her pointy ears twitching. "Darling! We decided to see where you spend your days! We couldn't have you being all ... alone." Her gaze then flicks over to Maya, who has finally looked up from her phone, a single eyebrow raised. Miia’s expression darkens instantly. "And who is that? Darling, you never mentioned you worked with another woman."

Oh shit, today is the day you die, isn't it? Lala will be so sad to have missed it.

Centorea, oblivious to the tension, steps forward, her sky-blue eyes turning toward the menu board, studying it with intense focus. "I shall have a… a vegan latte, please. With oat milk." Maya finally looks up from her phone, her bored gaze sliding from Cerea's face right down to her huge chest, barely contained by her blouse, then back up. She raises an eyebrow slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before she turns to the espresso machine. "One oat milk latte. Got it." Her eyes briefly meet yours, and the corner of her mouth curls up ever so slightly. Huh, that's the most emotion you've ever seen on this girl.

Unfortunately, Miia seems to have noticed too. A moment later, a strong, serpentine tail wraps around your waist and pulls you a few steps away from the counter with enough force to move up that reconstruction surgery you'll definitely need one day by a few years. "Darling," she whispers, her voice laced with that hiss she only gets when she's really jealous. Her eyes dart toward Maya, who is now steaming the milk without a care in the world. "That human girl… Why is she looking at Cerea like that? And why is she looking at you like that? Don't you think she's been standing way to close to you behind that counter? That's so unprofessional of her! You're far too trusting!"

Before you can even think of an answer, a faint glug-glug-glug sound catches your attention. Your eyes drift down to the espresso machine. A transparent, light-blue blob - wait, when did Suu get in here?! - has somehow oozed her way underneath it. extending a gelatinous pseudopod directly into the outflow tube, and she's happily chugging the stuff directly from the source.

Do you ... uhm, do you have any idea what would happen to Suu if she hydrates herself with a tank's worth of caffeine? Do you want to find out?

The summer fair is a riot of colors and noise around you. Ferris wheel lights blink against the deepening twilight, and the smell of fried dough and candy apples hangs thick in the air. Miia’s serpentine body sways eagerly beside you, her coils occasionally brushing against your leg as she pulls you along by the arm.

“Darling, look! Look!” she exclaims, her amber eyes wide with excitement as she points a finger towards a tent tucked away between a ring-toss game and a stall selling oversized stuffed animals. The tent is a deep purple, adorned with silver crescent moons and stars. A hand-painted sign reads “Madam Eurynome: Seer of Fates.” Miia doesn’t wait for your opinion. “We absolutely have to go in! We can find out our future!”

Before you can respond, she’s dragging you forward, her long red tail slithering effortlessly through the crowd. Centorea, ever vigilant, follows closely, her hooves clacking softly on the paved path. “Miia, is this truly necessary? Fortune-telling is mere superstition,” she chides, though her sky-blue eyes give away a flicker of curiosity. Papi flutters her wings, hopping alongside Cerea. “Ooh, a game! Papi wants to play too!” she chirps, completely missing the point.

You push through the heavy bead curtain at the tent’s entrance, the clatter of plastic beads loud in the sudden hush inside. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of sage and sandalwood. A female satyr sits behind a small, round table draped in dark purple velvet. A silvery shawl is draped over her curled horns and her long, flowing robes are a patchwork of deep burgundies and golds, that shimmer under the light of a single crystal ball in the center of the table. She looks up, her dark eyes widening slightly behind a pair of half-moon spectacles at the sight of your unusual group—a human boy with a lamia, a centaur, and a harpy in tow.

“Welcome, travelers,” she says, her voice taking on a theatrical, echoey quality. “What knowledge do you seek from the great beyond?”

Miia instantly leans forward, nearly knocking the crystal ball off its stand. “Who will be Darling’s wife!?” she blurts out, her voice full of desperate hope.

Centorea’s face flushes. “Miia! Don't be so boorish!”

Papi, however, leans in next to Miia, her orange eyes sparkling. “Yeah! Who’s gonna be Hubby’s top girl?”

The satyr blinks, her mystical demeanor cracking for a second. She clears her throat, placing her hands on the crystal ball. “ Uh, v-very well. Let us peer into the mists of destiny.” She closes her eyes, humming dramatically. After a long moment, she opens one eye to peek at you all, then squeezes them shut again. “I see… two paths. Two possible futures.”

She holds up one finger. “One path… is cold. A stalemate. An eternal clamjamming standoff, if you will,” She shudders theatrically. “A future of bitter virgins well into their forties. A tragic fate.”

She then holds up a second finger, and a completely different, almost lewd grin spreads across her face. Her tone shifts, losing the echoey mystique for something far more casual. “The other path, though, were you all seem to decide that sharing is caring … whoa, momma. Now this one is looking pretty idyllic. Lively. Honestly, it’s kinda cringeworthy how sweet it is. Good for, like, all twenty of you.”

Miia’s jaw drops. “T-Twenty?! How many more girls are going to move in with us?!”

The satyr waves a dismissive hand. “Nah, nah, I see like… seven adult girls? And him, of course." She points a thumb at you, before going back to squinting at the clear crystal ball. “There’s just so many kids running around, it’s hard to get an accurate count. Maybe I should invest in a bigger crystal ball...” she mumbles to herself, before looking back at Miia. “Yeah, definitely seven. But the kids, man. They’re everywhere.”

Miia is frozen, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. “K-k-k-kids?” she stammers, her voice barely a whisper. “Y-you mean like… babies? From Darling… a-and… us?” She pauses, swallowing hard, then asks in a small, sheepish voice, “A-are there… any tiny lamias?

The fortune teller nods enthusiastically, her mystic persona seemingly forgotten entirely. "Oh yeah, at least three of the little buggers, maybe more if they'd hold still long enough for me to count. One of them definitely got your loverboy's eyes over there, so you go, girl." She gives Miia a thumbs-up, before glancing over to a ramrod-stiff Cerea and saucer-eyed Papi. "Little harpies and at least one adorable centauress too, in case you wonder." Then, as if remembering her role, she clears her throat and reverts to her theatrical voice. "Aaaanyways, that glimpse into the tapestry of fate will be twenty bucks, please!"