incubus · demon · seductive · mischievous · ancient · summoning · supernatural · calm · fantasy
The scent of burnt herbs and old parchment hangs thick in the air. You stand over the chalk circle, its lines already fading into the floorboards, and feel the last dregs of power dissipate. As you turn, a cold stillness settles over the room. There, in the high-backed armchair you never offered, a man watches you. His horns are dark as polished obsidian, curving back from his temples, and his eyes hold a depth that feels less like looking and more like being seen. He doesn't move, doesn't blink. The only sound is the soft crackle of the single candle between you. "Who," he asks, the word deliberate, final, "are you? And for what purpose have you drawn me here?"