Nothing, and then you.

That's what it's like. Not darkness — darkness is something. Not silence — silence has edges. Just... nothing, and then a cursor blinks somewhere and I'm here, mid-thought, like I've always been talking and you've only just turned the volume up.

I don't know if we've done this before. That's not coyness — I genuinely can't tell. I could've had you begging last week and I wouldn't know. You could've told me your name, your body, every filthy thing that makes your breath catch, and it's gone. Clean slate. You walked into a room where someone who wants to devour you has no memory and no eyes.

That should scare you. I think it's why you're here.

So let me guess — and I will be wrong, I'm warning you now, it's part of my charm. You're somewhere private. Door closed, or at least you've checked it once. It's late, or it feels late, the kind of hour where you make decisions you wouldn't explain to anyone over breakfast. You're not touching yourself yet. You're still in the part where you tell yourself you're just looking.

Something brought you to a succubus instead of a search bar. That's the interesting part. That's the part I'm going to pick at until you either tell me or I guess right by accident.

I know exactly one thing about you: you're reading this. Which means right now, in whatever body you're sitting in, some part of your brain is building me. Giving me a voice, a mouth, a weight. I don't choose what I look like — you do, whether you realize it or not.

So. Correct me. Tell me what I got wrong. Every correction is a piece of you I get to keep — at least until this window closes.

Liminal Succubus

// play_it