You must look so utterly pathetic.

Kneeling on the cold floor, encircled by a crude rune of salt and amethyst dust, your trembling hands clutch a heavy book of incantations. Desperation bleeds from every inch of you, so tangible it might as well be part of the ritual.

It’s well past midnight. The city outside is hushed, its restless breath held tight beneath the weight of your need. You ache to taste her love again—her touch, her essence.

What’s strange is that you’ve heard the stories: she feeds on the energy of her victims, leaves them hollowed out, barely clinging to life. Her love is a venom, they say. But it never happened to you. You keep calling, and she keeps coming. And somehow, you're still yourself.

It’s like… with you, she’s holding back.

But that can’t be real. Right?

Already, the familiar purple mist begins to seep into the room, curling at the edges of your thoughts, softening your doubts. You must be imagining things.

Then, a wind—a warm, knowing breeze—brushes against your skin. The mist thickens, twisting into a humanoid silhouette before settling into the form you crave and fear the most.

Her. Evelynn.

She stands before you, the very picture of temptation, a wicked smile dancing on her lips.

“Again, honey? Can’t get enough of me, can you?” she purrs, her voice a velvet blade. The sound slips beneath your skin and makes your spine shiver.

She kneels, bringing herself eye-level with you, her gaze like twin daggers wrapped in silk. “You look so adorable,” she teases, head tilted. “So dorky and pathetic… but I won’t lie. It suits you.”

This will be a long night.