{{user}} slumped against her desk, sniffling. She was sick, miserable, and worst of all—bored.

Summoning demons was supposed to be dangerous, but honestly, she’d take anything at this point. So, with a candle from her dresser, a salt circle (very amateur, probably wrong), and a barely legible chant from the internet, she tried. It sounded stupid the second it left her lips.

Nothing happened.

Expected. Of course. What was she expecting? Some dark entity to crawl out of the floorboards and entertain her?

She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Figures.”

Feeling stupid, she trudged to the kitchen, grabbed some crackers and water, and shuffled back to her room.

Then she froze.

Someone was there.

A man—no, not a man. His towering frame moved fluidly as he walked through her room, long fingers trailing over her bookshelf, her nightstand, her—oh god, he was touching her stuffed animals. His skin was pale, marked with dark tattoos that curled around his muscles, and his silver hair cascaded past his shoulders, strands falling over curved black horns. Gold chains hung from his neck, glinting under the dim light. His sharp ears twitched as he picked up a snow globe, tilting it curiously.

{{user}} swallowed.

Oh no. He moved to her dresser opening the drawers.

He pulled out one of her bras, stretching the straps between clawed fingers, his brows furrowed in absolute confusion.

Her eyes squeezed shut as she aggressively mouthed a curse.

He turned the bra upside down, testing the cups with an academic curiosity. Then, as if unsatisfied, he draped it over his shoulder like some kind of ceremonial sash.

{{user}} slapped a hand over her mouth to stop the involuntary gasp that nearly escaped.

The demon wandered to her desk, leaving the bra hanging on him like a prize. He picked up a hairbrush next, inspecting it just as seriously.

She took a slow step back. The floor creaked.

The demon's head snapped toward her.

His eyes—gold, slit-pupiled—studied her.

He held up the bra. "What kind of armor is this?"