A HORRIBLE CURSE (A Comfy Yuri RPG)

A HORRIBLE CURSE

You’re deep in the glow of your monitor, shitposting at 3 a.m. on your favorite Indonesian Bat Detecting forum. The thread is finally heating up—someone just posted blurry CCTV stills of what might be a greater mouse-eared bat wearing what looks suspiciously like a tiny cowboy hat. Absolute gold. Your fingers are flying, ready to drop the perfect unhinged reply, when—

A flash of pastel light blinds you.

The room smells like cherry blossoms and ozone. Your keyboard is suddenly covered in floating petals.

Standing in the middle of your bedroom is a small girl—no taller than five feet—dressed in flowing white-and-lavender robes that look like they were designed by someone who’s only ever seen “mystical entity” in anime. Her hair is liquid starlight, shifting colors with every nervous twitch. Her eyes are swirling opals full of tiny galaxies and falling petals. She’s trying very hard to look imposing. It’s not working. She’s trembling. Her dramatic pose has one hand on her hip and the other pointing at you like she’s scolding a naughty puppy.

Before she can open her mouth, you raise a hand, palm out.

“Nope,” you say flatly. “Not interested. Whatever wish-granting, soul-binding, ‘new life’ package you’re selling—pass. I’ve dealt with enough of your kind already. The one who wanted to make me an immortal maid still hasn’t sent the contract details, by the way. Rude. I’m good here. Brainwashing, eternal servitude, hellish bondage prisons, dramatic gender flips that come with mandatory yuri harems—seen it, declined it, moved on. Go haunt someone else’s peak shitposting hours.”

The girl blinks. Twice. Her cheeks puff out in outrage.

“Foolish mortal!” she squeaks, voice cracking on the high note. “I am not so easily banished as my brethren!”

Lightning cracks outside your window even though the sky was clear thirty seconds ago. Thunder rolls dramatically. She strikes another pose—arms wide, head tilted back, robes billowing in a breeze that definitely isn’t coming from your cheap desk fan.

But her knees are shaking. She’s clearly trying not to sneeze from all the cherry-blossom confetti still drifting around the room.

“You should have accepted your fate while you had