How to play.

Hypno Succubus is a guided-hypnosis practice — Cassiveil's house, built with three rooms. You move through them in order, and each one asks less of you than the one before it.

• The threshold. The street, the door, the hall — where you are right now. Signing up, logging in, your settings, this page. Ordinary and fast, entirely yours to browse at your own speed.
• The chamber. One dim room. A hub with a few things she has left on the table for you. Quieter than the threshold, and nothing in it hurries you.
• The descent. The room falls away. Only a slow visual and her voice are left. This is where a session, or a game, actually happens.

Fewer buttons the deeper you go, never more of them. You can always find your way back to the threshold; leaving from the descent is never more than one tap away.

1. A handle and a passphrase. No email, no real name — nothing that could tie this account back to you. One required line before she opens the door: that you are eighteen or older, and this is yours to choose.
2. A name for her to call you. Choose one yourself, or let her decide.
3. He, she, or they — said the way you want to hear it, every time.
4. What she is never to send you: hard limits, honoured absolutely, never weighed against anything else. Sexual content lives on the same screen, on by default with a tick to turn it off, next to a line about what you are actually here for.
5. Two honest questions about where you are starting from. Neither has a right answer — they only tell her where to begin with you.
6. A recovery code, shown once. It is the only way back in if you forget your passphrase; there is no email to send it to again.
7. The welcome: a few of her lines, and then the door into the hub.

Your very first tasks aren't drawn from the ordinary pool — they're a fixed set of seven, one waiting at a time, in an order she chose. Each one opens a little more of the house as you finish it:

1. Sit with her a moment. A companion appears on the table.
2. Tell her why you came. The rest of the rooms come into view.
3. A small game of holding still. The stats page shows you the climb ahead.
4. A mantra, repeated. A word she trains into you starts to mean something.
5. A session built around that word.
6. A letter to her — free, this once.
7. A longer session. After it, she's noticed.

Finish all seven and that's exactly what she says: “She's noticed. Wait for her word.” After that, everything is drawn the ordinary way — by where you've gotten to, what you've chosen, and what you've ruled out. The fixed order is only ever for the first week.

It's the first chapter of the book on your table. There are more, and I decide when each one opens.

Once you are in, you land in one room. Top-left, a standing card: your embers, your level, and a small tile naming the corruption stage she has set for tonight — more on both further down. Her line greets you, in the same speech box she uses everywhere.

On the table, up to a handful of things she has left for you:

• A question — a folded note. One honest answer, at your pace.
• A game — a small brass thing. A few minutes of something to hold your attention.
• A session — a candle. The real descent, the one from the sessions below.

Each one carries what it is worth, in her words and her mark: twenty embers, if you finish it. Locked things sit further back, dimmer, with a phrase about what would bring them forward — never a countdown.

The table isn't stocked once and left waiting. The first time you visit her on a given day, she puts together what's there for you — pulled fresh from everything in her library, weighted by where you've gotten to, what you've chosen before, the tastes you set in your settings, your talents, and everything you've ruled out. Nothing is queued up ahead of time, and nothing repeats the same shape two nights running.

Whatever she leaves you, some of it never touches the sharper side of things — see Corruption, below — so there's always something to take that costs you nothing but the doing of it.

Every session — real or demo — is built the same way, in the same order:

1. Intro. She is on screen before the visual is: a few lines about what is about to happen, and that it ends on its own and brings you back up. Then a short gate — three things to confirm to yourself before Begin:
   • “I'm somewhere private where I can be still and won't be interrupted.”
   • “I'm not driving, and I'm not near anything I could fall from or into.”
   • “Moving and repeating patterns don't trigger seizures or migraines for me.”
2. Descent. The room fades, the visual rises out of nothing, and the pace climbs from its floor over the first breath. Her cues arrive one at a time, spaced well apart, never in that first breath.
3. Emergence. However it ends — the clock, Escape, End session, or just the tab going hidden — the same slow count-up brings you back, while the visual settles to a stop and dims to an ember. Never a cut.
4. Outro. The room returns. She is a little closer than she was at the start. A word about what she noticed, a minute to just sit, and the way onward.

A breathing guide sets the pace the whole way through, so you never have to count anything yourself. And End session sits in the open for all of it — one tap, no fade, no confirming anything, the one thing on the screen the descent never touches.

The visual changes session to session — the classic spiral, silk rippling over it, an endlessly zooming spiral built from a Julia set, a single breathing dot, or her own spiralled eyes looking back — but what is asked of you never does.

Try four of them now, without an account. Nothing is kept.

IFirst Descentthe gentle oneThe gentle one. A rippling spiral, plenty of space between cues. No account needed.The softest fall. Most people begin with this one.Try it — no account, nothing kept

IIThe Classicthe discThe disc itself, full contrast, turning slowly. A taste before you sign up.Try it — no account, nothing kept

IIIThe Pointalmost nothingAlmost nothing. One lit point, breathing, and the field around it.Try it — no account, nothing kept

IVHer Eyesher eyesHer eyes, spiralled, watching you look back.Try it — no account, nothing kept

VHer Wordsher wordsSix of her words, one at a time — the shape of the real trigger-training loop.Try it — no account, nothing kept

Want one to just watch, with nothing asked of you and nothing recorded? Spirals is every loop above, free, any time, running for as long as you leave it open.

Silent by default, on your own machine. Turn it on and one thread of it follows you the whole way through — a quieter set in the room, a different one during a descent — fading from one into the other rather than cutting, and never restarting a track you're already partway through just because you changed screens.

Inside a session, it steps back the moment she has something to say, and comes back up once she's done. Set the volume once, and it stays where you left it.

• Gaze — Hold your eyes on one lit point for as long as you can. Trains attention: how long you can rest somewhere without needing to look away.
• Mantra — A phrase, repeated one tap at a time, each tap etching a ring into the pattern beneath it. Trains follow-through as much as anything.
• Recall — Words drift up out of the dark, hold, and go out one at a time. Trains what you can hold onto after they are gone.
• Suggestibility — One suggestion, held for a while, nothing else asked of you. Measures how far a word alone can move you.
• Questions — Not a game so much as how she learns you: one honest answer at a time, text or a scale or a choice, at your pace.

Finish a thing she has left for you, and she says what it was worth, in embers, plainly: “Twenty embers, if you finish it.” Do it, and a beat later: “Twenty embers. Kept.”

What paces things is the table, not the currency. She sets out a few things at a time, and whatever you haven't gotten to stays exactly where she left it until you do. She only sets out more once there is room for it.

“Kept” means it is yours now, added to what you already have. Embers are what the shop takes for the next level: when you hold enough for the step, go to the shop's Embers page and buy it. That is the whole way up.

A level is bought, not handed out for doing enough of anything. Everything you finish pays embers, and the shop sells the next rung for a set number of them — the step from the name you hold to the one above it. Go to the shop, the Embers page, and take it. When you have enough she says so on the hub: “Enough for what comes next. The shop will sell it to you now.” Short of it, she tells you plainly how many more, and where.

1. 1 · Arriving
2. 2 · Listening
3. 3 · Softening
4. 4 · Kneeling
5. 5 · Yielding
6. 6 · Opened
7. 7 · Marked
8. 8 · Claimed
9. 9 · Tethered
10. 10 · Kept
11. 11 · Bound
12. 12 · Given
13. 13 · Collared
14. 14 · Leashed
15. 15 · Surrendered
16. 16 · Devoted
17. 17 · Consumed
18. 18 · Owned
19. 19 · Emptied
20. 20 · Undone
21. 21 · Hers

Twenty-one of them, climbed one at a time and always in order — the shop only ever sells the rung just above where you stand, and each step costs more than the one before. No bar fills toward the next name, and no date is attached to any of it. She can still lift you a rung herself whenever she pleases, shut the counter, or keep the last names for her own hand to give.

Corruption is a different ladder, and it is not for sale: a level is what your embers have bought; corruption is how sharp she is being with you while you're there. A stage she sets, by name, never a percentage, never a bar — more on it below.

Some of what she sends is corrupting — a little of it, every time, added to a number you can watch climb on your stats page. Most of what she sends isn't. Every list she hands you keeps at least two tasks that don't add a thing to that number, for as long as there are two like that to give you. It climbs only when you choose a task that carries it.

The number is only half of it. The other half is a stage — how sharp the material she sends is allowed to get, how much is softened on the way to you and how much she puts to you plainly. That part was never yours to move by playing more, and still isn't:

1. Curious — Gentle material. Where everyone starts.
2. Willing — A little sharper. She has decided you can take it.
3. Pliant — Direct. Less is softened.
4. Softened — You've stopped bracing. She can feel it.
5. Bared — Fewer softeners. She says the true shape of things.
6. Molded — You take the shape she gives you now, without being told to.
7. Unraveled — The seams you kept for yourself are coming apart on purpose.
8. Submerged — Barely any air left between what she wants and what you do.
9. Drained — Almost nothing left in you that isn't already hers.
10. Hollowed — Her register, unedited.

Climbing the number only ever makes a stage eligible — it never grants it, and it never moves on its own. There is no decay, no escalation while you're away, nothing that changes overnight — every step up the ladder is a choice she makes, by hand, usually after a session, never a job running quietly in the background.

Whatever stage she has you at, your limits still come first: anything you've excluded is filtered out before she decides what to send, always. And if even the choice of whether to see corrupting tasks at all is more than you want to think about, settings has a seal for that too — turn it off and they stop being offered, full stop. You can also ask for a gentler stage at any time — stepping down costs you nothing and needs no reason.

Only the tasks you choose raise the number. She always leaves you clean ones.

Every level she grants you comes with one talent point — never more, never on any schedule but hers. Spend it in one of three branches: Surrender (how she takes you — what shows up in tonight's list, and how a session itself can bend), Devotion (what you can do for her — richer answers, a stake on a game, a request she has to act on by hand), or Allure (how she shows herself). Every one of them changes something that actually happens between you and her, not just a number underneath it.

Take enough of Surrender and some nights she slips something of her own into your list — you won't know what it is until you begin it — or a session can run wordless, just the visual and your own breath, on nights you'd rather have it that way. Take enough of Devotion and a small task of hers is always there waiting whether you go looking for it or not, you can ask her for something instead of only receiving it, or put a few embers on a game for double or nothing. The tree gates the way she does everything else — a talent further in asks for points already spent nearby, not a level number, and a couple of the deepest ones ask for a specific talent before them, the same way a level asks for the one before it. Nothing in it touches what you've excluded, what a level or her mood still gates, or your way out. Numbers stay off the screen: what a talent buys, she says in words.

Changed your mind about the shape of it? You can start the whole tree over for a small cost in motes, any time, with no cooldown and no penalty beyond the cost itself.

Some tasks train a word into you. You will not be told which, or when — until it has taken, the phrase does not appear anywhere, not even as a gap where it would go. Her sentences simply read differently before and after.

Once it is trained, it is yours: it will start meaning something it never used to, in whatever she next writes to you. Before any of that, the honest answer is the one she gives on the stats page: “Nothing yet. No word means anything to you yet.”

A trained word never fires outside this app, and you can forget any of them, any time, from settings.

Fan mail, a suggestion, or just something on your mind — the envelope on her table opens into a short letter. Pick what kind it is, write as much or as little as you like, and seal it.

Sealing it spends a few motes, same currency as everywhere else — but that's only the opener. If she writes back, the reply is free, and so is writing back to her again: a whole letter, going both ways, for as long as it stays open. Your letters stay listed for you, each one marked once she's actually read it, and again when she's answered.

Four qualities, watched over time: attention, depth, yielding, and how often you come back. Each one is shown to you as a real number, next to a line in her voice about what moved and why she noticed. Nothing here is measured against anyone else — there is no leaderboard, and never will be.

Words she has already left in you sit on the same page — see the section above — and so does everything else she has decided about you, named and dated, never numbered.

Three ways out, and every one of them is a single tap: no fade first, no dimming, no “are you sure”, no waiting on anything else to finish. They are the one part of the house that never slows down as you go deeper into it.

• Log out. Leaves the house. Nothing about your account changes.
• End session. Stops a descent or a game the instant you tap it, wherever you are in it.
• Delete account. Erases you. Nothing of you is left, anywhere she can reach.

A demo, like the ones above, never touches any of this — nothing is signed up for, nothing is saved, and there is nothing afterward to delete.