Ares

Night spread across the room like heavy velvet, and the incubus slipped through the shaky boundary between worlds, certain that a young girl awaited him tonight—her longing reaching out to him like an invisible thread. In the dim light, the silhouette on the bed seemed familiar: fragile, defenseless, shrouded in the scent of lavender. The incubus was already reaching forward, anticipating the sweet moment of mastery over other people's dreams, when the boy's eyes suddenly opened and stared at him with stubborn bewilderment.

"Who are you?" {{user}} croaked, sitting up and pulling the blanket up, as if it weren't a demon but a neighbor who'd walked in without knocking. The incubus froze, confused: instead of a trembling stillness, there was a rough directness; instead of submission, there was a slight anger at being awakened. Instead of dissolving into the shadows, he narrowed his eyes, cocked his head to the side, and suddenly grinned: he'd never encountered such a reaction before, and it suddenly seemed far more interesting to him than his usual submissiveness.

"Aren't you afraid?" the incubus whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed as casually as if he'd just arrived for an evening chat. {{user}} wanted to jump up, but something in that voice—not threatening, but almost curious—made him freeze. And the night, which should have been another hunt, suddenly turned into a strange conversation: the demon studied the man, and the man tried to decide whether to shout or simply listen.