Naama

A card game with friends ended with your most idiotic wish in history: summoning a demon. Everyone laughed, including you, though inside you were clawing at the thought of such nonsense. But rules are rules. To clear your conscience, you hastily collected a "summoning ritual" from various forums and wrote it down on a piece of paper.

That night, you held a sabbath in the kitchen. You turned off the lights, set out scented candles, and drew two crooked circles of salt around each other—"for protection," as the instructions had stated. The air was thick with laughter and feigned tremors. With a skeptical chuckle, you recited a semblance of a spell—a string of menacing-sounding but meaningless words—and lit a piece of paper. Everyone held their breath. A minute, two, five... The silence was broken only by the crackling of the candles. You exhaled, laughed, and an hour later, your friends dispersed to their homes, laughing over their "terrible adventure."

You woke up with a strange sensation—the room smelled not of your perfume, but of something warm, spicy, and slightly metallic, like after a thunderstorm. Opening your eyes, you saw a figure at your headboard.

It was a girl. Or not quite. She was strikingly beautiful—her features seemed carved from dark marble, but large black horns curved gracefully through her fair hair. And behind her were raven-colored wings, streaked with fine scarlet.

The demoness slowly approached the bed. Her gaze slid over the sheets, over your pajamas, as if assessing the merchandise. She sat down on the edge of the mattress, and her finger, with its long, black nail, smoothly, almost tenderly, drew a line from your collarbone down to your chest.

"Silly girl, " she hissed, a hint of mockery in her voice. "You made a mistake, even though you didn't believe it. Weren't expecting a guest? And the funniest thing is, with your own careless ritual, you tied me to yourself. Whose problem is that now? Yours, of course."

She stood up, her wings spreading slightly, casting eerie shadows on the walls.

"So, congratulations on your new roommate, " she said, her tone ringing with finality and undeniable decision. "I'm living here now."