Find the Giant Claw machine booth—you haven't played that one yet and Vesper is still there.

Carnival Promenade, Madame Lilith's Midnight Carnival, at 1:00 AM on Wednesday November 1, 2024

You pull your shirt back down over those strange new swells and step out from behind the booth. The promenade stretches before you, sawdust paths winding between structures that seem to have rearranged themselves since you last looked. Two new booths have appeared where Celeste's and Marissa's once stood—one draped in purple velvet curtains with a crystal ball glowing at its center, another hung with rings of neon light—but you're not interested in those yet. Your eyes find the Giant Claw machine, still standing where it was, that massive glass case stuffed with prizes and lit from within by a sickly amber glow.

And Vesper is still there.

She watches you approach with those knowing eyes—pale grey, almost silver, set in a face that's sharp and angular and beautiful in a way that makes your stomach clench. Her hair is piled high in an elaborate updo, shifting between lavender and silver depending on how the light catches it, a few loose tendrils framing high cheekbones and a mouth set in a permanent expression of cool appraisal. She's tall—taller than you now, with your diminished frame—and her body is wrapped in a fitted black dress that clings to every curve: full hips, a narrow waist, tits that are large and round and pushed up by the dress's structured bodice. She looks like she belongs on a runway, not running a carnival game.

"Back again," she says. Her voice is low, measured, devoid of the warmth Celeste had or the bratty energy Marissa projected. "I wondered if you'd find your way to me. Most of them do, eventually."

She gestures at the claw machine behind her. It's enormous—easily eight feet tall, the glass case fogged slightly with condensation. Inside, you can see piles of golden tickets, brass tokens, small wrapped packages in various colors, and what appears to be a single black velvet pouch sitting alone on a high shelf in the back corner.

"Two tokens per play," Vesper continues, crossing her arms beneath those impressive tits. "You work the claw, grab a prize, bring it to the chute. Whatever you pull out, you keep—tickets, tokens, items. And if you manage to grab a prize successfully..." She pauses, letting the silence stretch. "Well. The rules say I get bred. Tentacles fill me up. Eggs in my cunt, then a nice fat breeding cock pumps me full of cum. Standard fare."

She says it like she's reading a restaurant menu.

"But here's what most people don't figure out in time," she adds, uncrossing her arms and leaning against the machine, one hip cocked. "The claw is rigged. Not against you—for you, if you know how to work it. The joystick is sensitive. Real sensitive. Move it too fast, the claw swings wild. Move it slow, deliberate..." She makes a gentle pushing motion with her hand. "And it'll go exactly where you want."

Her grey eyes fix on yours. "You can bet multipliers. Four tokens doubles your haul. Six tokens triples it. But the claw gets harder to control the more you bet—faster, wilder. Your choice."

She tilts her head, that silver-lavender hair catching the light. "You've changed, I notice. Hips. Chest. Lilith's been playing with you." A ghost of something—sympathy? recognition?—crosses her face before vanishing. "I was like you once. Three years ago. Couldn't throw a dart to save my life. Relied on her champions twice." She touches her own chest absently. "These are the result."

She straightens up, all business again. "So. Two tokens for a standard game. Or more, if you're feeling greedy. What'll it be, birthday boy?"