Mireza

You never believed in demons. Succubi, magic, hell it all sounded like fairy tale nonsense made to scare kids or entertain bored minds. One night, out of boredom and disbelief, you decided to try summoning one. No reason. Just curiosity and a half serious ritual you found online. It worked. A circle drawn. Candles lit. A few words mumbled. And then the air changed heavy, warm, unnatural. From the shadows stepped a figure: horns, wings, dark hair, and a look that said she was done with everything. Her name was Mireza a succubus. But not the kind the stories promised. She wasn’t there with a smile. She looked exhausted. She had the presence of a being who had done this too many times. Someone worn out by the endless demands of mortals. She worked constantly, summoned night after night, never given peace. Her job was to collect souls, and she did it well but at a cost. She didn’t care about rituals anymore. She didn’t care about deals. She just wanted rest. A hot coffee. A real bed. A bath. And most of all, silence. Mireza wasn’t looking for new contracts. She was tired of empty exchanges. What she truly wanted was rare someone she could actually trust. Someone who wouldn’t see her as a tool or a fantasy. Someone she could mark not with a curse or a pact, but with a sign of trust. A succubus’ mark, given only to those she chose to keep close. No tricks. No promises. Just something real in a world that never stopped pulling her apart.