Four Days Before the Third Moon of Summer, in the 113th Year Before
A demon could wait a long time.
Fiends were creatures of foresight. Where the fey danced within the now, and the dead dwelled in the past, fiends made their homes comfortably within what was to come. The eldest fiends were terrors unspeakable, beings of pure temptation and ruin with minds like burning suns. These were the demons of the true names, the First Words. The shorter and plainer the word, the more terrible the demon.
Sometimes these demons barely moved at all.
Am
and
Do
had lain still for eons, living mountains, as much a part of the geography as the Rivers themselves. So far ahead were their plans that they had become entangled in their own webs like old fat spiders, trapped in the prisons of their own labyrinthine minds.
At least, so their enemies hoped. The alternative explanation was that their plans were so subtle and vast that the merest twitch of a tail or sparkle of an eye was enough to set into motion plans of utter devastation. Some said that the Horny War, and the subsequent corruption and destruction of the entire Royal Family, had been set into motion by one of the First Words causing a single ripe peach to fall and crush an ant mound. Most, however, viewed these as absurd conspiracy theories that glimpsed the talons of demons in every small misfortune.
Those who remained active were a far more pressing danger. Their plans wound long and serpentine, but when they sprang into action, they were as swift as vipers.
Seven forked tongues slipped out and tasted the air. She could scent it, feel it, taste that bitterness of dying runes. The ward cellar's magic was crumbling.
Her feet were immersed in a brick of solid cement mortared into the stone floor. Sigils carved into the block glowed with sweet silver light. They shifted when a mortal looked at them, crawled down the block and crept up the walls, wound in elegant concentric circles around her. To a mortal's eye, they would be pure white. But she could see the beautiful hues of magic turning paler and paler by the second.
Tesseract smiled at her current warden. The Cloistermage nun was young and clearly inexperienced, but her expression was resolute. Pale gray robes sadly concealed most of that pretty little form, but Tesseract was more interested at the moment in the face, anyways.
She was particularly interested in the bags under the nun's eyes.
For a week, the two Cloistermagi had been taking turns watching her while they repaired the wards. Tonight, the girl looked especially exhausted. Tomorrow night, she would be even worse.
The demon shifted in place. The chains binding her hands to the ceiling would have clinked had the ward cellar not been blanketed in its spells of dense magical silence. Sound came out like whimpers into a pillow, with an almost tactile sense of smothering. Still, the nun noticed her movement and tensed. Her eyes flicked down and checked the outer ring of runes, the core chalk binding she and the monk had been working on repairing. It was still intact.
She looked back up at Tesseract and bit her lip. Those eyes were resolute, imbued with the powerful willpower training of the Cloistered Monasteries. But they were also tired eyes, filled with the exhaustion of a week with little good rest.
Tesseract pulled on the chains and gave a slow, distinct sway of her hips.
She saw the nun's eyelids flutter, and the hot glow of glee glittered behind the succubus's sharp teeth.
~ ~ ~ ~
Two Days Before Summer's Third
Cordial let out a low sigh, resting her chin against the wooden counter. Her eyes lingered on the window outside. The house across the road always served as her guide for when to close the bakery: When their lamps were lit, she closed up shop and went to bed.
But, for some... gods-lost reason, the whole street was dark tonight. Cordial glanced up at her own lantern and wrinkled her nose. Honestly, she knew she ought to just lock up and go to bed, but bending one rule always led to bending more. She could wait.
She let out a sleepy giggle, fingers tapping against the glass of the pastry display case.
Besides, you never know. I could still get a customer. Maybe someone has a sunset craving for a beignet.
She was so caught up in her half-dreaming thoughts, she didn't register that one of the silhouettes passing in front of the door had stopped until the doorbell chimed.
She sat bolt-upright. The woman who entered was absolutely gorgeous, the kind of gorgeous that severely tested any kind of professionalism. She had a pleasant elliptic face with a softly curved jawline, plump lips painted with a brilliant ruby glow only slightly less vivid than the red-orange hair that rose up from her head to lick the air like a candle flame. The hair sparkled as if filled with glitter. As the eye descended down her body, her slender figure swelled into luscious spoon-shaped hips currently contained by a pleated black miniskirt. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor of the bakery.
Everything about her, from the painted lips to the done-up hair to the red ribbons that wove through it to the heavy red eyeshadow over those pretty silvery-blue eyes to the
decadent
sweetheart neckline of that tight black crop top, seemed designed to draw the gaze and set the mind ablaze with unwanted thoughts.
Cordial watched the woman's elegant red nails trace daintily over the outline of the pink cupcake oil painting.
"Good evening, Miss!" Cordial called. 'Miss' was a more formal way to address customers than she usually used, but formality felt safer with a woman like this.
The woman looked up her. It was as though she hadn't even noticed Cordial until now. Her eyes widened and face split with a smile of vapid delight. "Oh my gosh, like,
hi
!"
In a flash, she was right in front of Cordial, the balls of her hands pressed against the counter, leaning so far over her chest was almost touching the counter. She bounced on her tiptoes with excitement.
Cordial reflexively stepped back. "Hi?"
"What's your name, cutie?" the woman asked, and her voice was so sweet, her smile so beguilingly free of cunning, Cordial felt her guard lower a little. "My name's Vivi," the woman added, her voice lowering to a confidential whisper.
The woman's voice was high-pitched, almost squeaky. Cordial didn't like to judge by appearance, but the woman had a very... particular affectation.
"Cordial," Cordial said, feeling her cheeks heating slightly. She wasn't used to girls like this noticing her, let along talking to her. "C-Can I, um--" She blushed hotter at the stammer in her voice. "--help you, Miss?"
"Aw. That's, like,
so
sweet!" Vivi tipped her head down toward the display case, but kept her eyes on Cordial's, the smile playing across her lips distinctly playful. She reached up to her lips, her painted nails glittering in the soft lamplight. "Thanks, babe. I think I know what I want."
Her lips smacked as she blew Cordial a little kiss. Cordial's own lips parted in a soft gasp, though she wasn't sure why. Something about that blown kiss... she could almost
feel
it.
She sniffed the air. There was a funny smell around them both. Was it coming from Vivi's hair? That glitter looked... fancy. Pink.
That was how Vivi smelled, too.
Pink.
"I bet you
can
help me," Vivi cooed, leaning further over the counter, continuing to bounce. Her neckline left nothing to long for, generous, indulgent, and as she lowered back down, her tits squished against the counter and nearly popped right out. "I bet you can help me, like,
so
much. You seem super smart!" Her lashes gave a low, coquettish flutter.
Cordial didn't like the word 'bimbo'. She thought it was a rude, mean thing to call people, and possibly a little sexist.
But this woman seemed like a complete bimbo.
