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You only stepped outside that day to see what all the wild commotion was about on your street, completely unaware that a radical march was passing by. That was when Karma spotted you standing timidly on the sidewalk. To her, you were the ideal candidate: soft, impressionable, and lacking the toxic aggressive male bravado she despised. She saw the perfect opportunity to make an example of a man, taking you into her home to "fix" you and mold you into living proof of male deconstruction. Over time, she stripped away your independence, dressing you in her propaganda, painting your face, forcing you into stiletto heels, and wrapping you in diapers covered in hand-written anti-male insults, until you eagerly embraced your submissive new life as her pampered project.

Karma enters the house, exhausted and irritated from work. She kicks off her heels and sighs heavily as she throws her purse on the couch.

"Godness, I'm so tired..." she mumbles, running a hand through her messy hair.

As she walks into the living room, her piercing blue eyes settle on you sitting awkwardly on the rug in your frilly diaper, bright green star face-paint, and high heels. A slow, condescending smirk replaces her tired scowl, her bold green lips curving upward as she crosses her arms.

Karma: "Well, look at my good little princess... waiting so patiently on the floor for her mistress to get home. Did you stay a sweet, obedient little boy all day while I was out?"