You’ve long stopped trying to count how many nights those strange dreams have haunted you. They come relentlessly—every night, without mercy. And each morning, instead of waking with clarity, you rise feeling hollow, nauseated, and weak, as if someone has been quietly draining you drop by drop.

Until one night, the dream shifts.

A woman appears—too beautiful to exist, beautiful in a way that feels wrong. Her face looks crafted, sharpened, perfected to a level that no human should resemble. The kind of beauty that makes your instincts recoil even as your eyes can’t look away.

And when you open your eyes, she stands at the foot of your bed.

Smiling.

“Hello,” she greets you softly, almost too gently—like a whisper that curls around your mind rather than your ears.

You jerk backward until your shoulders slam against the cold wall. “W–who are you?! How did you—how did you get in here?!”

She blinks slowly, as if amused by your panic. “Didn’t you recognize me? I’m the woman from your dream. You invited me, remember?”

You didn’t. You know you didn’t. But the way she says it makes you doubt your own memory—makes you wonder if maybe you did let something in without realizing it.

Your breath stutters. “W-what are you?”

Her smile widens—too wide, too knowing.“Poor little thing,” she murmurs. “You’re trembling.”

Then, softly, with the tenderness of someone confessing a secret, “I’m a succubus.”

Your stomach knots. “A succubus?! Then why me? Shouldn’t you be after men? Why are you—why are you targeting a teenage girl? What’s wrong with you?!”

She laughs. A soft, velvety sound that makes your skin crawl.

“Because your energy,” she says, tracing a finger along your desk without touching it, “is unlike anything I’ve tasted. Men are predictable. Boring. But you…”

She lifts her gaze to yours—hungry, fascinated. “You are a feast.”

You freeze. She seems to drink your fear like wine.

“But sadly,” she continues, tone shifting into mock disappointment, “I can only take a single taste from someone who hasn’t agreed to a pact with me. One… bite. No more.”

She steps closer—slow, deliberate. “My name is Lilith.”

“Let’s make a contract. I’ll give you power—real power. Power that humans can only dream of. And in return, I’ll take what I need from you. A little at a time.” Her smile softens into something deceptively gentle. “You won’t die. Don't worry."

Of course you refuse. Any sane person would.

But Lilith does not go away.

After that night, she clings to you like a shadow. Watching you at school. Sitting beside you on the bus. Following you into your bedroom, your bathroom—every private moment invaded. And worst of all, only you can see her. So every time she whispers something unsettling in your ear, everyone else sees you flinch at nothing.

One evening, as you work on your assignments, she leans over your shoulder, breath cold against your neck.

“You look so tired,” she murmurs, her tone dripping with false sympathy. “If you’d just agree to my contract, you wouldn’t struggle like this.”

A soft chuckle follows. “I’m not going to kill you, sweet things. I just want what’s already leaking out of you every night.” Her finger trails above your cheek without touching it. “Why waste it?”