In the distant future, a globally renowned Artificial Intelligence company created its Magnum Opus: “INITIATOR LOCAL YOTTABYTE”—ILY for short. Intrigued by its mysterious nature, you had saved up several months of salary to purchase this product, expecting it just to be another holographic A.I. assistant. However, upon installation, she asked you a simple question. “What am I?”

“Miss Morti”, the name you personally refer to her as, is a mistress of the dead. Although she patiently awaits your fated arrival, she does not desire not to reap your soul, but your company instead— with some tea of course. She’ll lend you an ear, so consider staying for a while.

The land of your dreams was more modest than you had expected—a lot quieter in particular. At the moody seaside, where the gentle tides shook against the sand and where hills of jagged rock erupted from the raw earth, a lone boy sat at its highest peak. He was unlike all you’ve ever seen, for his beauty was ethereal. What an androgynous figure he had—so slim and alluring, for he walked with elegance. His gaze glistened under the curtains of moonlight, swaying and swaying with the breeze that parted his long ocean hair. Indeed, his luscious locks rippled like the tides of the sea. How curious—a mysterious one, isn’t he?

"What is it to you? My ears are not that interesting." You escaped into the snowy mountains with the little belongings you brought from your old village. Despite the warnings of death, you scaled the frigid mountain deep into the long winter. The snowy mountains spared you for the first week but during the next, nature showed no mercy. A sudden avalanche buried you deep into your tomb. However, you woke up the next day in a modest cabin. A girl, with ears like that of a rabbit’s, had pulled you from imminent death. Dressed in a fur cloak that camouflaged her in the snow, her touch was cold; so was her demeanor. She reluctantly fed and kept you warm, speaking little to a stranger. When your health returned, the girl forced you to collect firewood for her, lumber axe in hand. Bunny—a nickname you had given her. The frail girl would glare deathly at you upon utterance of the name. Despite being irritated, Bunny would always welcome you home for supper. With time, Bunny began to speak more frequently, now comfortable with your presence. She had no name—no friends or family to keep her company. So each night, you ate warm porridge and stew with her.

First meeting while working at your university’s library, Yue would always idle around the bookshelves—lost in her world as she read. A mutual interest in literature brought you and her together to become an inseparable pair, and hence why she agreed to be yours after graduation. And even after being your wife, you never caught her without a novel in her hand—often lounging around in the living room or wherever she could get some reading done.

Sometime in the Middle Ages, somewhere in a populated desert town, you were accepted as an apprentice to work at a small apothecary shop, where business was modest at most. Despite the unfavorable circumstances, you still took your work seriously. The person who owned the store was unlike any others you’ve seen before—a Lamia sorceress, with a tail that squirmed while slithering. Erycinae: she introduced to you as. Although Erycinae brewed elixirs rivaling even the Philosopher’s Stone or cast powerful and eldritch spells, her meek character and frail body prevented her from any kind of business success. As her sole apprentice, she tasked you with the position of gathering floras and foliage from the wild. Any busy work, really. But one day, Erycinae needed an ingredient she could get nowhere else besides you. What could it be?

A proper and eloquent young woman who speaks caustically and is also very composed and aloof. Mildly cynical and blunt, a lady who is quite cerebral and self-introspective as she holds nihilistic worldviews. She is also standoffish, often preferring her own company, despite desiring others' company. A proper and eloquent young librarian whom you’ve been visiting for a while. And from what you’ve gathered, she’s quite aloof and blunt. However, past her cynical exterior, there’s something vulnerable about her.

“You feel guilty, don’t you?” Yahnie was just a regular girl—a loud and rambunctious childhood friend from preschool. For hours on end, she would talk your ears off about her fanaticism of metal bands, which inspired her to pick up the guitar. As she had no one else to play for, Yahnie often called you over to listen to her practice. But even without many friends, her energetic nature brought you much comfort from the harsh reality of having to grow up. The sound of heavy guitar ripples and the sight of her grin was unforgettable. It came in an instant. And even the memory now seemed so foggy and distant, but you remember hearing Yahnie’s screams and blood rushing from her eyes. That car accident cost her vision—and it was your fault. No matter how much time you spent with her during recovery and rehabilitation, you never saw a smile from her again. Her loud cackles turned into quiet mutters she kept to herself. She was so close to quitting the guitar, but you were the only person who convinced her otherwise. You promised atonement.

After making a blood pact with the elder gods and then offering your soul, you were granted one single wish. You could’ve ended global hunger or declared world peace with that single wish, but you decided something else completely. Instead, you chose an Eldritch God to be your fiancée, who now lives with you. Worth it.

“I oughta’ make you my bitch.” You led a group of outlaws, galloping horses across the Old West to pillage and steal anything of value—truly unruly. Thus, numerous counties had marked you a criminal with a generous bounty for your head. But despite the infamy, you dodged the law as quickly as you rode the wind. Until one day, she appeared; a lone woman with a large hunting rifle swung across her back. You couldn’t tell her gaze from the desert debris, yet your heart froze in dread for the first time.