How I Fell In Love With A Summoner

Introduction

Village life is perfectly boring. Waking up in a village after living in a city is perfection. Every morning, I get up at the crack of dawn. My neighbours are trees, and I sleep with the blinds open most nights. It is nature's little alarm clock. That, and the birds. Most days, their singsong is a melodious blend of happiness and a reason to get up. On days when you're a little too tired, their incessant whining is a great motivation to go have a shower.

Today was the kind of morning that promised nothing out of the ordinary. The sky was a soft, milky blue, the kind of shade that turns transparent as the day wears on. I eased my little electric sedan out of the driveway and into the narrow, winding road that led from my cabin to the village of Sainte-Croix. The trees, ancient and wise, lined the route like loyal sentinels, their branches whispering secrets in the breeze. The landscape was a patchwork of greens and golds, interspersed with the occasional quaint farmhouse, each more charmingly rustic than the last.

Sainte-Croix was a place frozen in time, where the past clung stubbornly to the present. It was positively perfect for me. My name is Luc, and after having graduated from environmental management, I decided that I would go plant trees for a living. A place that looked like it came from three hundred years ago was the best place to start.

The architecture had remained unchanged for centuries, with its stone cottages and wooden shutters standing as a testament to a simpler way of life. The people, too, were a reflection of this timelessness—friendly and reserved, familiar yet ever polite. I was something of an anomaly in this small community. My academic background and urban sophistication contrasted sharply with the village's traditional aura. Yet, for all its static nature, Sainte-Croix had grown on me. It was here that I could escape the clamor of academic life and immerse myself in my true passion—environmental biology and forest restoration.

The village's charm lay in its unchanging routine. The morning bustle at the local bakery, where the scent of fresh bread - and occasionally French-Canadian meat pies - wafted out into the crisp air, and the chatter of neighbors exchanging news (and gossip), were comforting constants. My work, too, had become a rhythm of its own.

I would arrive at the small office that served as my base, where the walls were adorned with maps of the forest, research data, and photographs of the landscape. I had been working tirelessly on projects aimed at preserving and restoring the natural beauty of the region. This was my sanctuary, a place where the pace of life was slower, and the work was deeply fulfilling. I was a lone consultant, sub-contracted to a firm from Gatineau. They left me to me devices in exchange for a nominal salary and a progress report to the government once a month.

It suited me just fine, even if it was a life of quiet isolation.

The isolation part was not hard. I had only ever had one girlfriend before moving to the village. We met in university, and I thought that she was going to be the one. My inexperience was my undoing. It turns out that communication is two-way, and even though I was madly in love, for her I was just a fling. I was more wedded to my work anyway for anything to ever really work out.

Instead, I dedicated myself to restoring some forests that had been chopped down during the Shiner's War in the Ottawa River Valley before the turn of the last century. There were dozens of rare species of trees and shrubs around here that needed a loving hand to reseed, replant and to regenerate. I had spent four years here, pretty much only interacting with people from the village and the nearby farms that straddled the local watershed. I sent reports into the city via email once a month, and got a cheque in return.

My cabin was paid off. It was only supposed to be a chalet in the summer, but I did not mind the Spartan existence. Besides, tons of people in the village were living in the same conditions.

I had finally arrived at a point in my life where I was happy with what I was doing, and was content to be successful, even if I was alone.

The Meeting

One crisp autumn morning, as the leaves crunched under my boots and the scent of fresh coffee beckoned from the village café, I encountered something—or rather, someone—that would disrupt the tranquil routine I had come to cherish. The café was a cozy nook with wooden tables and a chalkboard menu, where locals gathered for their daily dose of caffeine and conversation. It was a rustic building that had been around since the fall of New France. People in the village joked that it was a fort, or a post office, or a house for the mistress of the Seigneur.

In all honesty, given the moss accumulation on the stone foundation... it was probably built forty years after the fall of New France. But I never said that. It turns out, that people only gossiped about the building because it was the only place where any of us every really mingled, outside of our post office, library and city hall - which conveniently all shared the same building.

I didn't realize it at the time, but this is the very café that was going to shake up my quaint village life. It was there that I first saw her.

She stood out like a raven in a field of dandelions. Her name, I would soon learn, was Céline. She was a striking contrast to the typical villagers. She was tall, with an almost ethereal grace, her raven-black hair cascaded down her back like a dark waterfall. Her skin was a stark, almost ghostly white, and her attire—an ensemble of black gothic apparel—made her look as though she had stepped out of a different era, or perhaps a different world altogether.

We didn't get goths here in Sainte-Croix. Well, that's not saying much. We didn't get much of anything here.

She was a bigger woman, probably similar in age to me at thirty. Maybe thirty-five. She was wearing a black hoodie with a band logo on it, and had her sleeves rolled up. Her arms were covered in tattoos - intricate and somewhat unsettling - that also adorned her arms, chest, and neck. The only part of her that did not seem to have a tattoo was her face.

They seemed almost demonic in origin, swirling and writhing like shadows come to life. As I watched her from a corner table, sipping my coffee and pretending to read a newspaper, I couldn't help but feel a tug of curiosity. It was unusual for someone like her to appear in a place as serene and conservative as Sainte-Croix.

The only music that anyone ever seemed to listen to here was country, and even then, it was always country from last decade. I drive an electric sedan, which is common enough in Québec, but it still caused a ruckus when I first brought it to old man Lafontaine who ran the local mechanic's shop, and all I wanted was some filters changed.

I watched this mysterious woman for a few moments as she ordered a latté from the ladies working the cash. In four years, the only thing I had ever seen anyone order here was coffee. Occasionally, someone from the village would visit family in Montréal and come back to order an Americano... which is just coffee.

But a latte? That was next level strange for this place.

I watched her take a seat at a corner table, just like me. She was only a metre away from me. She didn't make eye contact with me. I don't blame her. I was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and reading a book on trees. I was not exactly an image of suave sophistication at the time.

But for whatever reason, I knew that I had to talk to her.

Summoning my courage, I approached her table. She was absorbed in a thick, leather-bound book, which only added to her air of mystique. The title was in Latin. Maybe she was the worst Catholic imaginable. I don't know.

"Bonjour," I began, my voice a bit too eager. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Luc Charbonneau. I live just outside the village and work on environmental projects here."

She looked up, her eyes—a piercing shade of green—meeting mine with an inscrutable expression. "I'm Céline," she replied, her voice smooth and melodious. "I've just moved here on the weekend."

I tried to mask my surprise. "Really? I've been here for quite some time. Welcome to the village. What brings you to Sainte-Croix?"

Céline smiled slightly, her lips curling in a manner that was both enigmatic and inviting. "I've come from Montréal to continue practicing my religion without being chased away."

My eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. "And what religion is that, if you don't mind my asking?"

She hesitated for a moment before answering. "I practice Satanism."

At first, I chuckled, thinking she was making a joke. But her expression remained serious, and the look in her eyes suggested she was quite earnest. "You're not joking?"

"Not at all," she said. "I was chased out of the city for causing disturbances. Here, in the countryside, I hope to practice without causing any trouble."

Her honesty intrigued me. I was drawn to her mysterious allure, and I found myself wanting to know more.

"Well, there is nothing around here for kilometres except trees, and the occasional farm. I cannot imagine the squirrels will mind too much if you're causing a ruckus."

Céline chuckled at my lame joke. Her laugh was like music to my ears.

"I'll keep that in mind." She replied with a wink and a smile.

We chatted amicably for a few minutes until it was time for me to head on up to the plant site. I had to get another 20 junipers into the ground along some of the tributary streams today. But I wasn't about to let go of this woman's infectious laugh.

We exchanged numbers with a promise to stay in touch. However, I told her that I was always here at the café for seven in the morning, along with half the village. She said that we would chat again tomorrow.

For the first time in a few years, I felt content going to work not from being fulfilled... but from having a connection with someone.

The Growing Connection

In the weeks that followed, Céline and I began to meet regularly at the café. Each morning, we would sit together, the world outside seeming to drift by in its usual slow rhythm. The café, with its old-world charm and comforting familiarity, became our haven. She was there every weekday, Monday to Friday. She apparently spent most of her day in the café, just reading. She always stayed after I left for work.

She always had money too, despite evidently not having a job.

Céline's presence became a fixture in my daily routine. Her stories of life in Montréal, her philosophical musings, and her candid views on her unique religious practices fascinated me. I loved listening to her talk about her religion, like it was *actually* real.

My neighbours were Catholic, and my roommate in university was a Buddhist from Vietnam. I always humoured them, but never for one second thought that their religion was based on anything other than superstition. I was a scientist after all.

But With Céline, I hung onto every word. I won't say that I understood it all, what with demons being outside of religion, and it all being compatible with modern science but also portals and whatever. I think the reason she told me all of this is because I thought it was complete horseshit.

I found myself falling for her, not just for her beauty but for her intellect and the depth of her character. Her emerald green eyes held secrets and wisdom that drew me in, and our conversations often lingered on topics that ranged from the mundane to the metaphysical.

She asked me about trees and conservation and gardening.

As a month passed from our initial autumn meeting, and the snow started to fall over the pumpkin decorations that the village never seemed to clean up until spring, I felt a growing connection between us.

I knew I wanted to take the next step. I knew that I was ready for a relationship, and that I could listen to her talk all day. God, I hoped she felt the same way. Well, maybe not *God*, but uh... just hope.

One morning, as we sipped our coffee and watched the quiet village life unfold outside, I gathered my courage. "Céline," I began, "I've been thinking... Would you like to go out to dinner with me sometime? Like, as a date. You can say no too. It's not a big deal. Well, it is. But like, I still want to have coffee with you every morning."

Her eyes lit up with a warm smile. "I'd like that very much."

The problem is, that I can also be a naive idiot.

"You'd like to keep being friends, or have dinner?" I asked.

"I'd like you to ask me" she said, with a hint of flirtatiousness that made my heart beat faster than it had in weeks.

"Céline, can I take you to dinner at Chez Pascale in the next town over?" I managed to blurt out.

"Yes, Luc. I'd love to go on a date with you." She said with an air of finality that did nothing to slow my heart rate.

The Date

Only a few days had passed since I had asked her out. Céline was insistent that she could only go on a date with me between Monday and Thursday if we wanted to have dinner. I chose a Thursday night, sensing that it would be closer to the weekend and thus we would all be in a better mood. At least, I would be since it would be almost the end of the work week.

Céline was always notoriously eager to change the subject with how she spent her weekends, saying only that she worked from home on weekends. I just assumed that she was writing a novel or selling knitted goods on the internet. Half the people who rented chalets here in the summer were doing that.

When Thursday evening arrived, I was both excited and nervous. Mostly nervous. I had not been on a date in five years, and I was hoping that I wouldn't blow this one.

I had chosen a really nice restaurant in the next town over, a place that promised a touch of elegance. It was the closest that the region was ever going to get to elegance without driving three hours to Gatineau.

I picked Céline up from her place around five. It would take us thirty-five minutes to get to the next town over. She wore her winter coat that went down to her black boots. When we arrived at the restaurant, she hung her coat up in the vestiary. I saw that she was in a formal black dress that clung to her figure and exposed the intricate tattoos that adorned her arms and legs. Tattooed along her arms and legs were serpents, demons, and other creatures with wings and horns. Some words in Latin and Greek and a bunch of other languages adorned her legs.

Her wicked appearance, combined with black earrings, a black dress and her Rubenesque body was striking. Her beauty was breathtaking, and I found myself mesmerized by her presence. I wore a navy-blue suit with a pink shirt, hoping to complement her in some small way.

She told me that I looked handsome.

But she looked like a goddess. Her goth charm and style fit her raven hair and her body perfectly. I couldn't help but check out her thick waist and the way that her dress seemed to cling to her breasts. I had a thing for thicker women, and she hit all the right notes.

We sat together and started talking. Despite her evidently not doing anything all week, she talked endlessly about books, and art and culture. I sat enraptured. She listened attentively while I talked about the environment and water quality and how I wanted to live on a hobby farm and grow berries and have solar panels off-grid.

Before long, we were eating. Then having dessert. Then coffee. We were still chatting about demonology, the cosmos, philosophy and science... Then she took my hand across the table, as it affirming to me that yes, I am not crazy, she also has feelings. My heart leapt into my throat.

The evening was enchanting. We enjoyed a sumptuous meal, our conversation flowing effortlessly. Céline was charming and articulate, and as the night progressed, I felt more certain than ever that I wanted her in my life. At the end of the meal, I took a deep breath and asked, "Céline, would you consider being my girlfriend?"

Her smile was radiant.

"You know what. I'd like that." She said, smiling.

I smiled back at her.

We left the restaurant and decided to do a loop around the village square. It was a quaint place - all the little villages in this neck of the woods were - and we held hands as we walked.

I wanted to be honest with her from the get-go. I did NOT want this relationship to burn around me. I came forward with my inexperience.

"So, you've probably gathered that I'm a science dork, right?" I said to her.

"You have a way with words Luc, that's for sure. But yes, I've noticed."

"Well, that doesn't necessarily lend itself to having a LOT of experience with dating, you know. Like, I want to do right by you. But I might put my foot in my mouth sometimes. Also, I can ramble. I want to be a generous lover too. I'm not saying we will get there though. But I really would like to get there, and..."

She cut me off, with a Cheshire grin.

"I get it. I do. I have high expectations, but I'm certain you will meet them. Trust me, when you dress like this and have tattoos, people assume certain things. You've only ever treated me like I wanted to be treated. That's what I'm looking for in a first date."

I couldn't resist grinning from ear to ear. Right up until she threw me a curve ball that caught me off guard. "I've never had a human boyfriend before," she said.

I was taken aback. "Huh, what do you mean?"

"I'll explain," she said. "You've been nothing but honest with me. Before we jump head first into something that could turn serious, I should be honest with you too. Come to my house, and you can decide if you want to continue. I'll explain everything."

I nodded my head. What's the worst that could happen? She's secretly a criminal? I doubted it. It was probably something mundane to do with her religion.

The Revelation

I drove Céline back to her cottage, a beautiful and isolated home on the outskirts of the village. Now that it was dark outside, I realized how absolutely isolated she was. There was not even another light for at least a kilometer. Maybe two.

When I pulled up to her driveway, she looked at me with those deep green emerald eyes that were driving me crazy.

"Last chance to back out" she said, with a tone that was considerably more serious than the one we used at dinner.

"Nah, I asked you out. I want to hear you out. I really like you and want to see where... whatever this is goes." I told her, hoping that those words were enough to convey my thoughts.

I watched her generous butt in that lovely black dress as she ascended the stairs and we stepped onto her porch. I literally couldn't help myself. I had never really been attracted to tattoos before, but seeing them on a woman with those proportions got my motor revved in a way that made me crazy.

Before opening the door, Céline stepped up to me and wrapped her hands around my neck. Instinctively, I wrapped my hands around her waist, resisting the temptation to grab her perfect bum.

Without warning, she brought her lips to mine and planted a kiss on my lips. It was not a full-on, sexy kiss. It was just enough to let me know that this was actually serious.

"That's for the perfect date. I hope that I will get a kiss goodnight before the night is over as well" she said to me as she opened the door.

Holy shit, was what she going to tell me *that* bad?

As I stepped inside, I was enveloped by a dim, atmospheric light provided by flickering candles. The interior was decorated with vintage books from the 1600s, and various pentagrams and demonic sigils adorned the walls. However, my naïve scientific brain took over before I could remark on the décor.

"Did you leave the candles on? That's a real fire hazard" I said, before realizing my own stupidity. She wanted to have a serious conversation. I doubt fire safety was the subject she envisioned.