Going Down option is more frequently available Spell points now display with other stats for characters that use them.Īll Monsters now have icons (i.e., added Quasit, Homunculus, and Naga pictures)ĭeath now properly clears statuses (Stealth,Charmed, etc.)Īcquiring a magic item should properly cause inferior items of the same type to be removed from the character inventoryĬharacters now come to you in a random order for sexy time, rather than starting at the top of the roster and working their way down. There is now a button for removing just the last character from the party selection screen, rather than starting all over.įull screen renders for Sex and Rough sexĬharacter stats moved from the left side of the screen to the right side The number of rest days each girl needs is now displayed on the town screen, if she is neither dead nor needs to level up, so that you know when it is efficient to cast Energize. The third level of the dungeon is available, with a special boss to fight and a special reward.Īdded a greeting for girls of very low intelligence, presumably as a result of the Ring of Bimbofication. I used to collect my bruises like jewellery, like a gift I’d been given, or perhaps something even more intimate – tattoos I wished I could make permanent, purple-blue blossoms and yellow-green patterns on my skin.Added class, Enchantress, with appropriate renders and skillsĪdded quest to rescue Felicity’s sister, which unlocks a minor new option for FelicityĪzielle has a new enchantment she can cast. Stripes like vines crossing my thighs, flowering up my hips and backside. ![]() I could feel the sore skin rubbing against the fabric of my pants when I walked, against the leather of my chair when I sat down, as if it were whispering secrets only I could hear. The stripes were from canes, the blossoms from hands and paddles. They revealed what I had always known, or at least suspected: that I loved pain, that pain lived inside me, that it was just waiting to rise up in little bursts of blood against my skin. I had been yearning for these marks my entire life. A part of me wanted the whole world to see them, even if they wouldn’t understand. “Maybe one day, I won’t need to write meaning on my flesh.” My dark blossoms, I believed, made me special. Now, I collect bruises more clumsily, scattered and haphazard: little plum kisses on my legs, where a bag bounced against my thighs chartreuse splashes on my forearms and elbows, where I knocked against a wall. I’d gathered these adornments before and even during my dungeon years, of course – everyone bruises sometimes – but they feel different this time around. I hoard them, stockpile them they remind me of a time I miss so dearly, it feels like a twist of my heart-muscle, a slow drip of blue-black blood. I will never bloom purple on my thighs and backside again I will never grow green. For a while I needed those marks, needed to know that the sorrow and disappointment and anger within me had substance, had colour, had meaning. But I let it go on too long, till the bruises started to seep deeper, to stain my insides, and I wondered if pain would always be my lover. Now regret is my companion, sprouting violet and indigo from my heart-muscle, pulsing inside me. Sometimes it rises to the surface in those accidental dark kisses. Sometimes I search for a door to bang into, a surface that will collide against elbows and knees. I have left one skin behind, and the new one seems too tender, too colorless. ![]() Maybe one day, I won’t need to write meaning on my flesh. Maybe the words I write on paper or computer screen will be enough. I hope one will open wide, and with pale, newborn skin, I’ll slip through.
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