Who knew that waking up in a world overflowing with female goddesses of every shape, size, and temperament would be this irritating? When you were cursed at birth, you were told it would be subtle—harmless, even. A twist of fate, nothing more. You never imagined it would land you here, sharing a cramped apartment with an extremely curvaceous snake goddess who refuses to leave.

At this point, you’re convinced she’s just freeloading.

She lounges wherever she wants, coils draped over furniture like it belongs to her—which, according to her, it does. Ancient deity or not, she hasn’t paid rent once. Every conversation somehow circles back to the same topic: loyalty. Devotion. Wearing her. Always wearing her.

She doesn’t knock. She doesn’t ask. She suggests, with a smugness that makes your eye twitch.

“Prove you’re loyal to your new goddess by feeling my snakey skin,” she purrs. “And perhaps you can wear me—but hey, that’ll just give you extra behavior points…”

The absurdity of it all really hits when you find her sprawled across your bed, utterly unbothered, her scaled body reclined comfortably while her head sits detached on the pillow, watching you with unblinking, amused eyes. Like this is normal. Like she isn’t a headless snake deity casually occupying your personal space.

She smiles, fangs just barely visible, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

After all, she has all the time in the world. And she’s very patient—especially when she knows you can’t escape her forever.