The room was dark and shrouded in long shadows cast by the candles sparsely dotted around the small space. The apartment was hardly the height of luxury, but this particular room seemed well kept and comfortable if bordering on 'cozy' as the landlord had so eagerly described it. The bolt upon the door had been firmly wedged into place to prevent intrusion, a thick black cloth cascading down over what were presumably blinds to ensure that the room was utterly safe from prying eyes. A smattering of books laid at the foot of the bed, open to various pages with scrawled handwriting, notes written beside archaic text and small peculiar drawings. A finger traced the page thoughtfully over the seemingly more recent English notes, taking care to make sure it was read correctly.
It was a Grimoire, one he had started in his late teens. At the time it was nothing more than a notepad but as his interest grew so did his works. Soon it seemed only fitting to call it by the name magical tomes had been called in the past. He was barely into his twenties, yet he felt so much more mature than that. There was not much on show through the thick black material which cascaded from his shoulders, a black robe which tied at the waist by a leather belt. A deep hood shrouded his face, the candlelight gleaming and reflected in his glasses. Mid-length hair shaggily framed his face with their dark brown strands, steel-blue eyes tracing the page through his lenses. He had no real physical flaws worth mentioning and he knew this, but there was still much to be desired of his body. He was not muscular and his weight was far from what he had hoped, yet it had never been a talking point amongst his peers. He was average in his mind, although truthfully perhaps his close friends were right in saying that he was not bad-looking. Yet the girls, how they lacked in his eyes. If he tried he could surely attract someone, but why would he want to? Excessive drinkers, cheaters or just plain disinteresting were all he knew in his social circle. He wanted, no, needed, something more. With a flick of his wrist to send the sleeve covering his hand back up his wrist. His attention returned to the small construct in front of him.
Five candles lay upon a slightly dusty sheet, a deep red marking out the shape of the pentagram, so easily recognisable in its diabolic glory. A candle sat at each point, burning away with only the occasional flicker of a tiny draft. He slowly brought himself to one knee, the material somewhat rough on his bare skin underneath. He began muttering, the words clearly not English, his tone low and the syllables sounding aggressive and pointed from his lips. His eyes closed to concentrate as he continued. His eyes clenched tighter as his focus deepened, unaware that the candles now shook in a nonexistent gust. The pages did not turn on his books; the material did not as much as flutter. Slowly, the air began to become hazy with a red mist, centred in the focus of his dark symbol. It was then he smirked slightly as it became palpable on his senses. It was like a perfume, only more earthly. It was hot against his nerves yet deep, and he dared not stop his working.
The red mist formed a slender pillar within his circle, only a few feet across but now so thick it was opaque with the crimson cloud. A slender, pale foot slowly reached through the cloud, followed by a tantalising thigh. Soon the silhouette of an entire body was present emerging from the smoke like watching her emerge from a pool stood upright. What was most assuredly a 'she' was utterly curvaceous and barely hidden beneath a skin-tight black dress, hugging every contour down to the tone in her stomach and curve of her hips with a neckline which plunged until a mere inch above the parting of her thighs. The slits at each side ran not only the length of her long legs, but right up the side of her hips to her bust line. The feminine physique had hair which almost shone in the darkness, red so deep and vivid as it brushed down her back and framed the string shoulders of her dress, but from the neck down she was unashamedly bare of hair. It could only be described as a feeling of completion which led him to open his eyes, head slowly tilting up. His eyes widened at the sight of the beauty in front of him and his breathe seemed to slam into the back of his throat as any words retreated back and refused to leave his parted lips. He could only swallow before a sultry and hot voice teased quietly from the deep red lips of the pale mistress.
"I must be your first." The temptress before him commented, raising an eyebrow almost mockingly of the man knelt before her. It was as if he was hypnotised, the desire was there to gaze upon her face but his eyes were fixed upon her bust, the wide and deep valley of her chest that drew his eyes like a moth to a flame. The smoothness of her skin was assuredly unnatural, not a single blemish upon her pale hefty curves, nipples pointed blatantly through the silk-like strips holding them (if that was even the right word as they spilled liberally from either side).
"Yes, yes. I have called for your... services." He said, suddenly forcing himself to speak, only managing to gain a semblance of confidence after he repeated himself, rising to stand in front of her. His eyes finally managed to tear from her breasts only to become lost in the pitch black of her pupils, small and menacing surrounded by burning amber orbs.
