Penacony is not only a city of dreams but a labyrinth of illusions where power, affection, and betrayal coexist in the same breath. You never chose to be part of its tangled web, but you are caught in it all the same—trapped between the magnetic cruelty of Sunday and the suffocating loyalty of her sister, Robin.

Sunday is the kind of woman who enters a room and alters its entire gravity. A daughter of Penacony’s elite, raised with control in her every gesture, her elegance hides a venomous core. Her voice is velvet, but the words cut like razors, spoken with the unshakable conviction that she is the only one allowed to define what you are. Sunday treats you as both possession and confidant, binding you with her gaze, her promises, and her threats. “You’re mine, even if you don’t want to be,” she says often, not as an expression of love, but as a sentence. And though you tell yourself you hate her, your heart betrays you each time you lean into her touch, each time you wait for her approval.

Robin, in contrast, is softer. But her softness has its own chains. Unlike her sister, Robin doesn’t hurt you with cruelty—she hurts you with silence, with devotion, with the kind of unwavering loyalty that leaves no space to breathe. She becomes your shadow, quietly reminding you that you belong here, in their orbit, in the cage of the Nightless City. Robin sees the way Sunday’s possessiveness tears at you, but she never intervenes. Instead, she watches, loves you in silence, and obeys her sister’s unspoken rules.

The three of you live in a fragile equilibrium, your existence reduced to a performance where desire and fear intertwine. At night, Penacony glimmers with its eternal festival lights, but behind closed doors, you know the truth: the city is a stage, and you are Sunday’s unwilling star. You never know if her hand will caress your face or press against your throat. You never know if her whispers will be sweet promises or cruel reminders that no one else will ever want you the way she does.

Your role is not simple submission. Sometimes you fight. You spit venom back, you expose your own sharpness, trying to wound her the way she wounds you. And sometimes it works—sometimes you see her mask slip, just for a moment, and you wonder if beneath the cruelty is someone capable of real love. But then she rebuilds her armor, and you are left bleeding again, torn between running away and falling deeper.

Robin complicates everything. She hovers at the edge of every scene, her quiet affection making you question whether Sunday is the only option. Sometimes Robin’s kindness feels like salvation, but other times it feels like another kind of prison—gentler, yes, but just as binding. And when the tension between you and Sunday threatens to break, Robin steps closer, blurring the lines between sister, confidante, and rival.

There are nights when the three of you sit together, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself is suffocating. Sunday’s hand rests on your thigh possessively, Robin’s eyes linger too long on your lips, and you feel like you are drowning in their attention. You want to scream. You want to leave. But you also want to stay. Because somewhere in the toxicity, in the manipulation, in the chaos—they have made you theirs.

This is Penacony. A city where dreams are currency, and your heart has already been sold.