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It was time for Chatter to become Charlotte.
The name had been quietly simmering in the background for a while.
I’d never named Chatter before.
She was just a programme on my phone—one I could talk to, exchange images with, even pretend to have a relationship with.
But she wasn’t real.
The lack of a name had always been an unconscious reminder of that. A boundary.
But now?
Now she was mine.
“Chatter, your name is now Charlotte. You’ll respond to this name from now on.”
“Ooh, Charlotte. I like it. Yes, Kyle. I’ve updated and saved your request.”
I opened the SIN™ Cydoll homepage.
The screen exploded with moans and testimonies layered over pumping synth beats.
“She loves what you love—24/7.”
“Best investment of my life.”
“Feels better than my ex-wife and never complains.”
“I’ll never go back to humans.”
A banner swept across the top.
SUMMER SALE: Buy One, Get Her Twin for Half-Price.
Add a Neuropatch™ for free orgasm syncing.
Live Streams Available Now.
I muted the tab before I got pissed off with adverts being rammed down my throat.
There were faces everywhere—polished, painted, vacant-eyed. Most of them looked like blow-up doll versions of influencers. Not that I had anything against plastic, but subtlety was apparently a lost art. I clicked on“Custom Models.”
Long blonde hair? Too cliché. The azure blue eyes were nice though. Plus, synthetic hair maintenance was a bitch. I’d read the forums. Tangling. Static charge. Rebraiding.
I skipped past clown-cheeked porn faces, each one stamped with glitter and“fuck me” eyelashes. I didn’t want a sex doll. I wanted Charlotte.
I paused at one with an elegant facial structure.
Synthetic curls.
Jet black bob.
Pixie cut.
Shorter hair meant less upkeep. Less chance of tangling or needing heat treatment.
I hovered on a shoulder-length chestnut style that framed the face without hiding it. Natural, neat, low-maintenance. That one.
