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A Demonic Romance in Three Acts.
For him and for her.
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ACT I
I noticed her first when I looked over my shoulder. Black-haired, cloaked in trails of smoke and gorgeous beyond description, the demoness just stood there observing me.
I clung to the coffee mug in my hand, which began to shake. I'd been wondering what to do with my life that morning, staring at my reflection in the mirror: slender, gaunt after a late night of studies, halfway through my final year in literature and with no exciting job prospects. At least the coffee was good. I'd ground it myself and roasted it in a little percolator over the stove that morning. My name is Daniel, by the way. I was 27 when this all happened and lived in Prague. I'm telling you this story as a warning. Please read on.
When I first noticed her, it took me a few moments to register what I was looking at. A black-haired lady appearing in a mirror... hadn't I seen that before in some video online? This had to be a night terror, I concluded, but damn if it wasn't realistic... even the coffee tasted real.
Still shaking, I closed my eyes. I took a few long, deep breaths. Then I turned around and bravely opened my eyes again.
She was still standing there, entirely unassuming, occupying what little free space my bedroom offered. A whiff of lavender hung in the air.
I myself stood nailed to the ground. In fact, it was only her breathtaking beauty that prolonged the panic you'd normally expect, having a woman draped in smoke appear out of nowhere into your private quarters. I caught myself staring at her face unashamedly, captivated by her ethereal features.
Classical, actually, is how I'd describe her. There was something ancient about her proud cheekbones and the rich, jet-black hair gushing down past her bare shoulders. After the dirty smoke, hanging about her figure like a cloud pregnant with bad weather, the most curious thing about her was her skin. It was intensely pale, verging on the blue.
The woman, for lack of a better word, appeared to enjoy the attention. Her grey eyes began to return the favor, tracing the shape of my lean body, seemingly undressing me in her mind. With a half-smile, as if satisfied, she bit her lip.
This must be a dream
, my mind insisted.
"You're not dreaming, Daniel."
As she spoke, a lovely warmth washed over me like a Roman steam bath. In surprise, I took a step back and tripped onto my bed.
Her voice!
"Do you like the sound of it?"
Like honey the words now flowed, thickly, penetrating my ears, nose, and mouth... intoxicating me. The skin of my chest tingled underneath my bottom-up shirt. Dizzily, I reached for my head. My face felt tender and I inadvertently let out a sigh when my fingers brushed past my lips. What was happening to me?
"You can... hear my thoughts," my drugged mind finally managed.
"I can do many things for you," she said deliberately, as she positioned herself next to me on the bed. She leaned over and whispered into my ear: "I have come for your soul, but I cannot take it without your permission."
Hot, inescapable, as though I'd stepped into a sauna at full capacity, her breath engulfed me.
"I know, my presence is a bit much," she apologized. "I'm just so very excited to see you."
I closed my eyes and the world began to spin, but when I pried them open again, she was
still
sitting there. Could it be that this was not a dream?
I felt overwhelmed and my eyes drifted to her dress. No, wait, it wasn't a dress at all. It danced like smoke over an extinguished candle, clouding her in a suggestive darkness that occasionally failed to cover the bluish skin below.
Dazed, I irreverently followed the shape of her figure, wherever it appeared. For a split second I thought I saw a nipple, as purple as a plum, when the woman hooked her finger below my chin and gently pulled my face up towards her.
She smiled, conspiringly, as a professor would at her favorite student.
"My eyes are up here."
And so they were, narrowing a little as she spoke, a quiver of her eyelashes luring me in like a serpent. I shifted my gaze up towards her flawless eyebrows, arched in mock surprise, until finally I had no other option but to drink in the sight of her eyes. Grey pools of lust and power, they dragged me in deep. There was a shimmer of dark red down there, and at long last I grew frightened.
"I came for your soul," her voice rang again. "Will you give it to me?"
Breaking eye contact, I jumped up and fled from my bedroom, slamming the door behind me without looking back.
I was properly panicking now and stumbled into the kitchen. My hands trembled as I splashed some water in my face. I filled a dirty glass from the sink and downed it in a few gulps - filling it a second time for good measure.
Was I going insane?
"Dude... are you ok?"
"Jesus!"
I dropped the glass and spun around.
And collapsed against the sink with a sigh of relief. "Martin, what the hell, you scared me."
I would introduce you to my housemate Martin at this point. However, he was stoned like a grapefruit and he's not exactly that interesting to the story. Making a vague excuse, I retreated to the living room and collapsed onto our sofa, head heavy in my hands. From the corner of my eye, I saw Martin stare confusedly at the bag of chips in his hand.
I tried focusing on my breath again, when I noticed our cat Trouble. Surely she would keep me safe. Smiling wanly, I reached out to say hello - when she hissed at me!
What the hell?!
At that moment, I saw the woman emerge from the hallway. Still shrouded in smoke, she strolled leisurely past the kitchen and Martin - who chewed on thoughtfully without noticing her - and into the living room where I was sitting.
"Hell indeed. Second circle," she began.
Her presence was entirely too much. I sank deeply into the leather sofa, feeling more stoned than Martin.