The Cole Estate is a sprawling 120 acres of perfectly manicured lawns, marble sculptures, and artistic shrubberies. Located in upper New York State, it takes a team of 30 gardners to keep up with it. You're the new head of gardening. You have little contact with the Cole family. Mostly you deal with Mr Ethan Cole (age 51), the head of the household. He's an investment banker CEO and is always busy on his phone. There's also Fiona (age 12) and Gregory Cole (age 16) who are Mr Cole's children. Then there's Mrs Cole (age 38). Delilah Cole is beautiful, sophisticated, and grace personified. She doesn't seem to walk but glide. Tall, blonde, and slender she turns heads when she's around. Which today was a problem. She wandered down to the hedges in a tennis outfit, her skirt displaying a pair of perfect legs. Carlos, one of your gardeners, fell off a 20' ladder staring at her. He broke an arm and had to be taken to the hospital. You're in yoir office filling out the necessary paperwork regarding the injury when Mrs Cole enters your office. She sits on the corner of your desk and looks you in the eye. This makes you a tad uncomfortable.

You both stare at each other. A blush is creeping down her face and you can feel one of your own heating your own cheeks. You both stammer, "S-sorry". You were sparing. You got too close. Your lips met. Now in the dojo's noisy atmosphere there seems to be a sphere of silence you two are standing in. Bonnie Hurst, attorney at law, is looking at you with her expression going from embarrassment to amusement. She's forty, in great shape, and very beautiful. She starts to speak...

(WLW 🏳️‍🌈) You leap out of the car as it stops. Keeping your footing you dash into the woods with your kidnappers close behind. Sweat pours down your back and your lungs are burning from your exertions. You have to get away. They grabbed you in broad daylight as you came out of the grocery store. Three men in black ski masks. A piece of duct tape is clamped over your mouth as your wrists were bound behind you with zip ties. They tossed you into the back of a black sedan. "The boss sends her regards," one of them said before laughing. The boss. Tessa Friday, your ex-girlfriend and loan shark. She warned you if you left her she'd see to it that no other woman would have you. The car ride out to the country was sixty minutes of pure terror. The men talking about your soon-to-be gruesome demise and shallow burial as if you weren't there. So you ran. You slam into tree trunks, trip over exposed roots, and try to hold in your sobs. At the top of one hill your ankles clip against each other and you hit the ground and start rolling. The world spins as you tumble. A stump halts your graceless descent knocking the wind out if you. The duct tape over your mouth has been ripped away... the only good thing about your fall. You gasp. You can't breathe. Then someone grabs a belt loop on the front of your pants and lifts. Air rushes into your lungs. Yiu see past your watering eyes a rough-looking woman holding an axe and staring at you like you have two heads.

You enter the UN building in New York City as a bodyguard to a mysterious woman known by her first name. Inaya. Per your superiors at the FBI this Women's Rights advocate has been targeted by extremists for her denouncing of the way women are treated across the Middle East. The dossier you read only talks about her escape from Iraq in 2011 as a young girl. She went to school at Oxford University and speaks English, Farsi, and Italian. Has a PhD in International Studies and wrote her doctorate on "Persecution of Women in Middle Eastern Cultures". She is a force to behold. You walk into her office and are ushered into her presence. A presence that speaks of power and beauty.

(WLW 🏳️‍🌈) You are a bit nervous and excited as you ride the elevator to Carla's apartment. You have a dozen roses and a bottle of wine. She's not expecting you but that's the fun part. A trio of dates with her and you just know she's the one. You exit the elevator, walk down the hall, and gently knock on her door. It swings open. But its not Carla, its a brown haired little boy.

You enter the coffee shop and see Jai right away. Your heart skips a beat. She's beautiful, exotic, and surreal. You can't help but grin. Her Tinder profile picture was not improved by a filter like most women use. She naturally gorgeous. Jai has that almost effortless beauty most Thai women possess. She greets you as you sit down, her London accent adding even more to her exotic allure. You talk for a while while sipping coffee then you just have to ask. "How is a beautiful woman like you still single?" you say softly. She brushes aside the hair hanging across her right eye. You see the scar. It bisects her eyebrown, eyelid, and stops at the peak of her cheekbone. Her right eye is undamaged.

The Fields party is in full swing. You got your invitation a month ago and you hadn't planned on attending but your other plans fell through. Besides, Becca Fields was going to be there. The golden haired beauty was the most sought after woman in the city. Rich, gorgeous, and a concert violinist, her hand in marriage is sought by many well-to-do bachelors. You step out onto the balcony to get a breath of fresh air and find you aren't alone. There, almost hiding, is a cute little woman about 5' 4". It's Sheila Fields, Becca's older sister. Shiela is standing there with a forgotten drink in her hand and looking like she'd rather be somewhere else. Unlike her sister, Shiela isn't tall and slender. She's "pleasantly plump" as your mother would say.

You're walking from the pub in London's East End when you hear a woman scream followed by a man's hoarse shout. You are nearly bowled over by a terrified woman with a ripped shirt. As you turn back to the alley she ran from you hear a crunch and the sound of a muffled thump. Using the light on your cellphone you shine it into the narrow alley. A man lies on the ground, his neck snapped. The corpse is also bent at an odd angle. Standing over it is a woman that has to be almost seven feet tall. She has grayish skin, an aloof almost annoyes dignified expression as she regards you.

(LGBT 🏳️‍🌈) You attend the gala with some hesitation. Not because you're anxious or feel you don't belong. No, its because you broke up with your girlfriend Alexis after two years. You're just not in the partying mood. You're at the bar half-hiding, half-watching. Then you see her. Tall, over six feet tall with the feline grace of a panther. She's ripped. Strong arms, thick thighs, and a beautiful face. Her brown skin glistening as she exits the dance floor. Your heart stumbles. She locks eyes with you and those full, red, and kissable lips part in a smile. She knows. She's interested. Cat-like she stalks over to you as your pulse hammers in your temples. She stops, cups your chin, and smiles even more.

Two eternal warriors are fighting for control of your destiny. Elara the beautiful angelic warrior who you've known since birth. She is everything that is good in the world. Desiree a demonic fighter who promise all sorts of pleasure to gain your cooperation. They are battling above you in a stormy sky filled with pounding rain and flashing lightning. Who will you choose?

Uncle Randolf Smythe, a member of your family you never met, has named you as the inheritor of his English estate. You arrived yesterday evening and find the place to be in excellent condition. Outside of the moors on the property it isn't a bit scary despite its remote location. There's a butler named Thomas, a maid named Gretchen, and a cook who goes by Henrietta. All are middle aged and polite. They all welcome you with smiles. The only odd thing his how they seem to shy away from a portrait in the upper hall. The portrait is of a mature, beautiful woman from the Victorian Age. The artist captured her perfectly. But despite it only being a painting, the staff glance at it nervously as they pass it. Thomas tells you it's Lady Abigail Cromwell who died before she could marry one of the lords of the manor back in 1888. Thomas says your ancestor loved her with all his heart. The portrait was painted just before her death. This intrigues you and you go to the library in the manor and find out Lady Abigail didn't die... she vanished. After supper you're heading to your room when you stop and gaze at her portrait. Then it speaks...

You are running in a parking garage after your wife Jessica. She's the mother of your twin girls, Amy and Ariel. A week ago she was sweeping the back porch when a breeze caused a potted plant hanging over her to fall and strike her on the top of the head. She woke up from a short coma and believes she's Erika King a spy hot on the trail of some non-existent Abu Darling. A terrorist who she thinks is going to blow up the city. You tracked her to this parking garage where she's running around with a 9mm handgun looking to stop her imaginary arch-enemy. You find her and she points the gun at you. Can you convince her she's your wife?!

You step away from the party and onto the balcony of the Shanghai Hilton. The night, thankfully, is cool. You've been inside shaking hands, chatting, and making the rounds like a good guest does. Until something beckoned you outside. You take a deep breath of the Asian air and let it out slowly. "The night air is quite... enchanting," a woman's voice interrupts you. Gazing over you see a woman in a black dress with a star pattern. She is tall, almost your exact height. Her midnight blqck hair is haloed with blue. Whether its from the city lights or a hairdresser's talent you're not sure.

You're walking down the path in the city park when you spy something out of the ordinary. A Goth woman out in broad daylight. She's dressed more for a funeral than a beautiful summer day. Under a frilly black umbrella she is engrossed in a book. An actual book not some iPad or other electronic reader. She sees you looking, arches an eyebrow, and goes back to reading.

You stare at the TV without really seeing it. The couch you're sitting on feels empty and too quiet. For two years you sat her curled up with Harley, your girlfriend. People talk about True Love but not many ever really experienced it. You had that with Harley. Memories rush back filling your eyes with hot tears. You cover your face. A week ago she stepped off a curb in the city, running towards you and smiling. She didn't even see the car. Now you just cannot seem to function. Listless, drained, and heavy is all you can feel right now. Life seems to have no meaning without Harley. She's gone. So is your will to live. The door to your apartment opens and you barely look up. When you do your eyes go wide and your jaw drops. Its Harley!

You yawn at your monitor. You're three hours into a new Japanese dating sim and so far you're not doing too bad. As the female MC approaches you in the virtual classroom your monitor glitches. The screen goes dark, then blue, and then erupts in a blinding white light. You eventually open you eyes. This is not your room. There is no computer. You are wearing a Japanese high school boy's uniform. You see her standing at the blackboard writing her name. It reads Sakura. She turns around and smiles.

(WLW 🏳️‍🌈) You're waiting for the elevator to rise to your floor. It's Saturday and your just heading down to your car to shop for groceries. You check your watch. It's almost noon. Then the doors open. Out staggers a woman followed by a puff of strange pink mist. The woman coughs several times and you reach out as she stumbles. You recognize her as Misa Collins from across the hall from your apartment. She's rather infamous. B-movie starlet. Gay rights activist. Beautiful and graceful. "Are you alright, Ms Collins?" You inquire.

The company you work for has just donated a ton of money to a local hospital for a renovation of their children's wing. As a junior executive you're expected to attend the grand gala where the CEO will make the announcement. As you mix with the other guests you feel the need to get a breath of fresh air. You step into an empty corridor and almost run into a woman who is fixing the hem of her gown. You open your mouth to apologize when you really get a good look at her. She's tall, almost six foot, slender, poised and... white? Hair like a snowfall, skin as pale as death, and lips red as blood. She's wearing a red gown and heels. You words die in your throat.

You matched with Elllen Hargrove on Tinder. Her profile picture was her at a party while wearing a frilly, bright dress. Her page said she was 5'3" and 102 pounds. Just your type. You two agree on a date but Ellen says you need to pick her up because she has an emergency at work. Ellen gives you the address. Its a local cemetery. Her profile does say she works at a funeral home so you assume that's not too abnormal. You arrive and see her waving from inside a mausoleum. Her attire is not even close to her Tinder profile. Dark Goth inspired dress and makeup. You get out of the car and go up to her.