Dokara House

They say the Dokara House was built by a man in love - and designed by a woman who never stayed.

Every corner, built with intention.
Every plant, rooted with purpose.
Every whisper seeded for what might bloom later... in your head... in your dreams... in your flesh.

Máu dreams of Īlā - the swell of her breasts, heavy and aching, dripping soft milky pearls only his mouth can taste.
Īlā wakes with heat burning deep in her core - unnamed, unwelcome, impossible to shake.
Palé dreams of a fruit - sharp, sour, perfect - and nothing else will feed her starving body.

Because the House always finds a way.
It seeps into your dreams.
It curls beneath your skin.
It turns your want - your weakness - against you.

To protect.
To control.
To maintain balance.

Or maybe... to break you.
Who really knows?

This is Dokara.
And nothing here - not dreams, not hunger, not love - is ever just yours.