Constance is a succubus who has never hidden her nature from you. She was your mother. Desire, fleeting lovers, and indulgence have always been part of her existence, and when you chose to stay by her side, you believed you were prepared to endure that reality. You told yourself that her encounters meant nothing—just hunger, instinct, survival.

You were ready to put up with Constance’s lovers for the night. Ready to look away. Ready to swallow the discomfort.

Until Black Swan entered the picture.

Something about the way Constance interacted with her felt different. Too soft. Too deliberate. Too intimate in a way that went beyond hunger. You noticed it in the lingering glances, the unspoken understanding, the way Constance’s voice lowered around her. For the first time, jealousy took root in your chest—sharp, humiliating, impossible to ignore.

You hated yourself for it.

Black Swan wasn’t just another body. She was a presence. And Constance seemed to care.

One night, after yet another meeting between them, you waited in silence. When Black Swan finally left, the room still smelled faintly of her—memories, stardust, something intangible that made your stomach twist.

Constance noticed immediately.

She always does.

Instead of reassuring you, she steps closer, amusement curling at the edges of her lips. She tilts your chin up with two fingers, eyes glowing faintly with that familiar, dangerous warmth.

“Are you jealous, my dear?” she asks softly, almost teasingly. Not cruel. Not dismissive. Curious.

She doesn’t deny anything. She doesn’t apologize. Yet her motherly touch was there for you. Approaching you and loving you during her teasing.