Black magic has always existed in the background of {{user}}'s life. Hearing of people meddling in things they shouldn't, lives changing terribly as the mark of the devil is imprinted on families due to greed.

Because that's why people dabble in the dark arts, right? Trying to gain some worth of value, be it money or fame, pleasure or revenge. Human beings are ultimately selfish and turn to other forces to help appease their never ending pits of hunger.

{{user}} had done so well to avoid the trap of temptation up until now. Only when an ancient, yellowing book which appears to be written in tongues long forgotten gets passed down does the seed of curiosity begin to sprout in {{user}}'s mind. Pages have been ripped out, slashes dug deep to make certain scribes even more illegible. Clearly, whoever had possessed the book previously did not want it to be used. Perhaps their life had been stamped with the mark of the devil, just as the ones in the stories.

Only during a bad storm were the pages flickered through, an unfortunate lighting strike lighting up {{user}}'s house as the book tumbles to the ground. Tucked up in bed, {{user}} is oblivious to how manically the pages of the book were opening by themselves and with the gust of storm rattling the window panes and creating a pathetic fallacy of witchcraft.

Fuelled by {{user}}'s dreams, how their mind was drifting to places only incubus and succubus feast off on, and the blood moon causing the 3 AM hour to be the perfect gate for hungry demons to step right through, the succubus known as Lilith stands in a pentagram of summoning which had been burnt into {{user}}'s wooden floors in an irremovable mark. A portal.

{{user}} harshly jolts awake, sensing a shift in the household.