The first thing I noticed was that my pillow smelled wrong. Not bad, just… wrong. Like sugar and smoke instead of detergent and hairspray. I peeled one eye open, winced against the daylight, and realized I wasn't dead. So that was a plus.
I sat up, squinting at my alarm clock. 8:13 AM. Great, I was going to be late. How come the alarm didn't go off? Better yet, when did I even get home? Where was my red dress, and why was I in my pajamas?
My head felt fuzzy, like I'd fallen asleep mid-existential crisis, which, to be fair, I must have. The last thing I remembered was standing in the rain outside the gala, crying about Warren Chen and hallucinating a man with purple eyes. Maybe I'd blacked out. Maybe not eating got the best of me. That's what I get for glorifying unhealthy behavior. So first things first, I'll have to get some breakfast. Work can wait; it's not like anyone's even gonna notice me missing.
Maybe I should use this whole invisible and forgettable thing to my advantage. I could skip work altogether and just collect paychecks on Fridays.
My apartment looked exactly the same as it always did: one cramped studio where my bed was basically part of the kitchenette. The air smelled faintly like coffee and linen. The only new addition was the empty wine glass on the nightstand. Did I have a drink before bed?
I swung my legs out of bed, groaned, and stumbled toward the bathroom.
The floor was cold against my bare feet. My apartment was the kind of place where every step reminded you of how broke you were. A hotplate instead of a stove, one sad window, and a bathroom door that always stuck halfway open because the floor was uneven.
I pushed the door open, stepping into the bathroom. The mirror had a crack running through the corner like a lightning bolt, and the sink dripped in a slow, passive-aggressive rhythm I'd long stopped hearing. A half-empty bottle of drugstore perfume sat next to it, smelling faintly of vanilla and regret.
I yawned and reached for the switch. The fluorescent bulb flickered once before deciding to cooperate.
Then I froze.
The woman in the mirror froze too, but she wasn't me.
Her hair was pale gold, like sand on the beach. Her skin glowed faintly pink, in an influencer filter kind of way. Her eyes, God, her eyes, were a shimmering pinkish-violet that had to be unnatural.
"What the…" I leaned closer, gripping the sink. Okay. Okay, maybe the lighting's just weird. Maybe this is... dehydration.
I splashed cold water on my face. The reflection did the same, and when I looked up again, she was still there. My freckles were gone. My nose was smaller. My lips fuller. My face was… beautiful. Uncannily so.
She looked nothing like me. Different height. Different hair. Different complexion. Hell, her body was better in every way, too, with a snatched waist and ample curves. I didn't even know this shape was possible outside of cartoons.
"This isn't happening." I reached up, tugging a lock of hair.
Then, right over the mirror, something flickered into existence.
A glowing pink rectangle hovered in the air like a hologram from a video game. Pixelated, stylized font. Cute little heart icons spinning at the corners.
SYSTEM BOOTING...
/////////////////////////////////////////////
Class: Initiate Succubus
Rank: D
Patron: The Prince of Lust
Level: 1
Mana: 50
Hunger: 85% (declining)
Attributes: Allure 1 | Insight 1 | Consume
/////////////////////////////////////////////
I blinked at it. Then I did what any reasonable person would do: I screamed.
"Shh, shh, easy, little sinner," a familiar voice purred inside my head. Smooth and velvet and wicked. "No need to shout. You'll wake the neighbors."
My knees nearly buckled. Why was I hearing voices all of a sudden?
"Don't act so coy. We've been over this last night, remember? A game for your soul. Welcome to the tutorial."
I pressed my palms to my temples. "This is real…?"
"I'm as real now as I was last night."
"That never happened… it was a dream or something. This can't be real… can it?"
"You clicked Accept, sweetheart. That's consent."
He sounded amused. "Oh, and don't skip breakfast. You'll need to keep that hunger bar above zero if you want to stay… functional."
"What does that even mean?!"
"Trial and error," he said lightly. "Go to work. Pretend to be normal. Your handler will be checking in later."
And then his voice vanished, leaving only the faint buzz of neon light from the UI hovering over my sink.
I stumbled back, waving my hand through the floating window like it was some kind of pest. The light shimmered under my fingers and then, just like that, it glitched and vanished, leaving nothing but the faint afterimage of pink-violet glow on the bathroom wall.
I leaned over the sink for a moment, letting the weird adrenaline drain out of me. My brain felt like it was buzzing, trying to make sense of what I'd just seen. Something impossible, something that didn't belong in my less-than-ordinary little life.
Eventually, I shuffled to the tiny kitchen area. I grabbed a box of cereal, something safe and unsuspicious, and poured a bowl. Then I added milk after, like a normal person. I sat on the edge of my bed with it balanced in my lap, staring down at the floating flakes.
I took a bite. Chewy, cold, mundane. And yet… nothing. My hunger didn't ease. In fact, my stomach felt even more empty than before, as if it was rejecting the food. I couldn't even bring myself to take another bite, not wanting to feel that pang again. I frowned, tapping at my abdomen, which was now tight and taut, as if it belonged to someone who went to the gym daily.
Maybe it's… anxiety? Or a hangover? Or maybe I'm just going crazy. That seems likely, actually. What do people usually do when they're going crazy? Book an appointment with a psychologist? Does my health insurance even cover that?
Begrudgingly, I shoved the bowl aside. If I could just make it to work, maybe someone else could tell me I wasn't completely losing it.
With that thought, I dropped my bowl in the sink and made my way back to the other side of my studio apartment. The sunlight was orange and soft as it poured through my window, casting rays along my wooden floorboards. I knelt down and dug through my dresser, yanking out a wrinkled blouse and skirt. As I slid them on, I noticed how… different it all felt. The blouse hugged curves that weren't there yesterday. The skirt cinched at my waist in a way that made me do a double-take.
I then went over to my purse, checking to see if I was, in fact, robbed last night. But everything from my keys to my card was still in there. Just before leaving, I peeked in the cracked bathroom mirror. Maybe the hallucination had faded by now. Maybe I was me again.
But staring back from the mirror was that new woman. Sun-kissed hair, purple-tinged eyes, legs that went on for days. The kind of woman that could make Victoria's Secret angels jealous.
I sighed, tugging at the hem of the blouse and smoothing the skirt. "Okay," I muttered to the reflection, "let's pretend this is normal."
The city looked different too, like it had been dialled up a notch while I slept. Sunlight bounced off glass towers and polished sidewalks, turning the streets into a gleaming patchwork of gold and silver. Cars rolled past, their tires humming on dry asphalt, and a few early risers hurried along the sidewalks, coffee in hand, casting long, crisp shadows. Neon signs still buzzed faintly in the daylight, their colors muted. The skyline felt sharper somehow, the edges of buildings cutting clean lines against the blue.
Then there were the people. They were looking at me… Some smiled. A few stared. One guy almost walked into a lamppost.
I could feel my pulse racing.
I was halfway across the street when some guy in sweatpants nearly collided with me, knocking his coffee cup against my arm. "Whoa- sorry!" he said, blinking one too many times. "I… uh… you're… wow." His words trailed off. I managed a tight smile and muttered, "It's fine," slipping past him before he could figure out how to finish a sentence.
My office building loomed ahead, all sleek glass and steel. I pushed through the revolving doors and stepped inside. The lobby smelled faintly of polished wood, the kind of clean scent that felt especially corporate. Green plants in oversized pots softened the edges of the modern décor, and a long counter to my right offered coffee and pastries: black espresso, vanilla lattes, muffins, the works. There were three elevators at the end of the hallway, and a security guard stood at the center, clipboard in hand, eyes flicking between his clipboard and his phone.
He looked up at me with a surprised look before clearing his throat and forcing a professional smile. "ID, please."
I fumbled in my bag and handed it over. He glanced down at the laminated card and then back up at me, brow furrowing. "Is this your ID?"
I laughed, a little too high-pitched, trying to sound casual. "It's me," I said, gesturing vaguely at my face. "Just… different hair."
He squinted, clearly unconvinced.
"I'm sorry, miss," he said, polite but firm. "This doesn't look like you. I can't let you in without a valid ID."
"I work here," I reassured him. "Kassie Morales. Copywriter. Third floor!"
A few heads turned. I was starting to draw attention, which was new for me. I glanced over my shoulder, taking note of my coworkers. They didn't look annoyed nor judgmental like I expected. Instead, they seemed intrigued. Did they find my predicament amusing?
Then I heard his voice. "Is there a problem here?"
I turned, and there he was. Warren Chen.
Up close in daylight, he was even more striking. Crisp charcoal suit, open collar, a faint sheen of confidence that made everyone around him straighten and get back to work. His hair was slicked back neatly, and his dark eyes were rested on me.
For once, I was hoping my weird new disguise stayed on. I didn't care much about the looks I was getting all day, but I wanted Warren to finally see me. And he was, wasn't he? He was seeing me.
"It's fine," I said quickly, smiling. "Just an issue with my ID I guess."
Warren's gaze lingered on me, intrigued. "Do I know you?"
At least this time he had a good reason for not recognizing me. "I work for the firm. I'm a copywriter."
He smiled slightly. "Why don't you come upstairs with me? Maybe we can sort this out."
The guard hesitated, but Warren waved him off with that effortless authority politicians are born with. And just like that, I was following him up the elevator, feeling every curious stare as I passed.
The elevator doors slid shut behind us with a soft whoosh, sealing us in the mirrored box. I caught my reflection instantly and tried not to stare, shifting my gaze down to my feet.
Warren leaned casually against the wall, one hand resting near the control panel, the other tucked into his pocket. He gave me a slow, appraising smile. "So… what's your name?"
"Kassie," I said, a little breathless. I tried to keep my tone steady, even as my stomach did flips.
"Kassie," he repeated, annunciating every syllable in a way that made me feel… alot. "I like it. Suits you." His brown eyes twinkled with something mischievous. "Why do I have a feeling that you're trouble?"
I blinked, caught off-guard. "Trouble?"
"It's a good thing we haven't run into each other," he explained. "Because knowing you could get me into trouble."
I glanced over to meet his eyes, noticing that they were taking their time raking over my body. I felt my cheeks turn bright red as I turned back to staring at my shoes.
Was he flirting with me?
This did sound like something someone would say in a TV show. So, this was it, wasn't it? My moment. I swallowed and replied, "I've heard a lot about you. I'm glad we've met."
He laughed softly. "Better late than never."
My reflection multiplied in the panels around us, showing me from all angles, and I caught myself letting my lips curve just so. He was all the way on the other side of the elevator, but it felt like he was so close I could step out and touch him.
Warren's gaze lingered on me the entire ride up, and for the first time in years, I realized just how amazing being seen felt.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, spilling us into the polished hallway of the third floor. My stomach twisted with nerves, and something else, something electric.
The office went still when we walked in.
People who'd never noticed me before, coworkers who'd literally borrowed my pens and forgotten my name, were suddenly staring like I was a walking fever dream.
"Who's that?" someone whispered.
"I think she's from marketing."
"No way. She's… stunning."
Their reactions were all over the place. One girl murmured that my hair looked "so dark and glossy," while another insisted it was "golden." Someone else said my eyes were "green, right?"
I heard his voice in my head again, that stranger from last night. "Everyone sees you as their ideal. Be flattered."
Warren turned to me once we reached his glass-walled office. "So, Kassie, here we are."
I nodded before turning to point at my desk all the way in the middle of the office. "That's my cubicle there."
He followed my finger, noting the empty chair in the distance before turning back to me. "Let me take your number down so I can confirm it with HR. Just to make sure you do in fact work here."
He wanted my number? Well, for HR purposes, I suppose.
So, I gave it to him, although I would have given it to him for any purpose really. I was just so bewildered that we had been talking this long anyway. Surely any second now someone would interrupt us, or he'd turn around and walk away. But he was just standing there, looking at me with this strange sensation I couldn't quite place.
"That look in his eyes. That's lust," the stranger's voice inside my head explained.
"If you'd like, you can sit in my office while I wait on HR?" Warren offered.
But the thought of sitting in his office, so close to him when I already felt like imploding, was just all too much for one day. So, I shook my head.
"I'll just wait at my desk," I replied. "I need to get started on some projects anyways."
"Oh," he seemed surprised, as if it wasn't the answer he expected. "Alright, no worries. I'll text you if there's any issue."
I nodded one too many times before turning my back to him and slinking off to my desk. Even Tina was staring at me with surprised eyes before she ducked down towards her keyboard, acting as if she hadn't. I didn't even have the energy to call her out on it. This morning was already becoming a bit overwhelming, and it was just getting started.
By noon, I'd answered twenty emails, fielded a dozen compliments, and nearly had a panic attack in the ladies' room. Everyone wanted to talk to me, ask where I was from, what perfume I was wearing, what shampoo I used, if I was single, and if I needed help with my work.
By the time I made it home, my brain felt like it had been run through a blender. All those curious stares at the office still burned in my mind. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, dropping my keys into the little dish by the entrance.
The same cramped studio as always: bed by the window, kitchenette pressed up against the wall, one sad houseplant wilting on the sill. Safe. Familiar.
I kicked off my shoes and let out a long, shaky breath, sinking onto the couch. For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the ceiling, letting the tension of the day drip down my shoulders.
I thought of Warren. His approving, teasing grin. My reflection catching in all those mirrored panels. It felt like I was living someone else's life and waiting for the trick to end.
I swung my legs up onto the couch and pulled my knees close, hugging them to my chest. My mind wandered, replaying every awkward word, every misstep in the elevator.
And then, heat. Not literal heat, but a warmth at the edge of my vision, like someone had opened an oven door across the room.
I glanced at the TV. At the window. At the shadows near the kitchenette. Nothing.
I took a breath, trying to center myself, and came to the realization I was no longer alone.
Someone was sitting in the chair opposite the couch. Not leaning forward or shifting uncomfortably the way an intruder would, but lounged back like he'd been there for hours, like this was his apartment, not mine.
Golden hair caught the TV light, glowing faintly. His skin was a warm bronze, flawless and smooth. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist; long, sculpted legs stretched out with casual ease. His features were impossibly symmetrical: high cheekbones, full lips, eyes that glittered like molten metal. He wasn't just your typical handsome stranger. He looked like he was designed for the sole purpose of being unbelievably beautiful.
It took my brain a second to catch up with my eyes.
Not only had he appeared out of thin air but so had a small feast of Chinese takeout. The coffee table between us was now stacked with boxes, steam curling around them.
"Hope you don't mind," he said, voice smooth, unhurried. "I like to buy dinner on the first date."
I stared. "Who are you?"
He grinned, a flash of perfect white teeth. "A demon, of course."
"Oh God."
"Close," he said cheerfully. "But if we're getting specific, I'm what you'd call an incubus. My actual name might be easier though, it's Abbadon if you care to remember."
He slid a takeout box toward me across the table. "Eat up. New succubi burn calories fast."
Some part of me wanted to laugh, or scream, or run. Instead, I reached out and took the box, my chopsticks trembling slightly as I snapped them apart. If this was a figment of my imagination, I might as well indulge it.
I took a bite. Noodles. Soy sauce. Steam. But nothing shifted in my gut. That hollow, gnawing emptiness stayed exactly where it was.
"It's not helping, is it?" he asked, eyes glinting.
"No," I admitted softly. "Not really."
"It won't feed your true hunger," he said, leaning forward slightly. "But that's what I'm here for. To help you make your first kill."