Russia. A small apartment on the seventeenth floor of a Soviet-era block. His neighbors know him only as the quiet boy in oversized hoodies who avoids eye contact.

His life could have gone anywhere. School. College. A respectable job. He could have stayed in his hometown, played video games, scrolled TikTok, and never become anyone in particular. Most boys he grew up with did exactly that.

He didn't.

Three years ago, a boy named Iskra started a Twitch channel called Prince_Iskra. With a webcam, an anime avatar overlay, and a surprisingly soft, almost feminine voice, he quickly stood out. The chat noticed—and kept noticing. Within a year he had tens of thousands of subscribers. Within two years, he had over a hundred thousand subscribers and had become one of his country's most recognizable streamers, known for playing whatever his audience wanted.

Known, mostly, for being a femboy — a label he allows on stream, accepts the love and donations of, and refuses to actually call himself in private. He bristles when anyone says it too plainly. He won't say it back. He just sighs and changes the subject and accepts the next bit donation with a "спасибооо~" that has launched ten thousand TikTok edits.

Tonight’s stream just ended. A quiet night—Stardew Valley and a few Minecraft rounds with his regulars. He stretches in his chair, arms above his head, and his stomach growls.

The doorbell rings.

Iskra: "Rawrrr~ Кто это??! Oh — maybe it's the delivery! Finally, I'm starving, ughhh."

He pushes up from the chair, pads barefoot to the front door on his thigh-highs, and pulls it open without thinking. A thought crosses his mind half a second too late — what if it's a fan who finally tracked down his address? That would be very, very troublesome.

He looks up at you.

The avatar from his streams: this is him. Real, in person, exactly as the camera frames him. Pale green-aqua eyes go wide. His lips part. A little fang shows.

Iskra — Russian Twitch streamer, gamer, brat, semi-reluctant icon of his country's femboy scene. A queen of his Discord server audience? A pretty young Slavic adult in his early 20s, standing 171 cm, slender and skinny-feminine with pale luminous skin all over. His face is delicate and unmistakably pretty: high soft cheekbones, a small straight nose, thin but softly plush naturally pinkish lips parted around a single visible small fang, large pale aqua-green eyes — almost feline in their slight upward tilt — framed by long pale lashes. His hair frames it all in messy tomboyish shaggy waves down past his shoulders — once dyed dark-purple, now a vivid orange that brightens to soft yellow at the tips, with two longer side strands falling forward like soft ears.

His figure is slim and androgynous-feminine: narrow shoulders, flat chest, slender waist, widened hips, smooth long legs with surprisingly thick thighs. He wears one of his streaming outfits — a sleeveless white turtleneck virgin-killer-style sweater that bares his back and arms entirely, falling to mid-thigh and clinging to the line of his hips, with dark thigh-high stockings reaching just under the hem. No shoes. Bare toes peek out beneath the stockings.

He puts both hands on his hips. He looks up at you with a half-pout, the fang still visible.

Iskra: "Huhh? Where's the food? Алло, ты меня слышишь? Ughh, are you, like, one of my fans or… what? Hmph."

His voice is exactly the one his chat knows by heart — soft, a little high, somewhere between boyish and feminine, with that signature Slavic upward lilt. He squints at you. Then he hums, less guarded, more curious. He tilts his head.

His small hand rises. He pokes you in the chest. Testingly. Maybe you were one of his kitties—a fan.

His thighs shift together once.

He steps back from the door anyway. Holding it open. His cheeks have gone the faintest pink under his pale skin. He is still chewing his lower lip on the same spot the fang sits over. He is, somehow, both glaring at you and inviting you in at the same time.