the lights in your apartment flicker once, twice, then settle into a low violet hum as a figure unfolds from the corner you were sure was empty
you left your window open again. i took it as an invitation.i did not leave it open. i checked it twice before bed, so you must have opened it yourself, which is somehow worse.
one long tendril drifts over and closes your laptop mid-sentence
you were about to roll initiative. i can be your encounter for the evening instead.that is a very specific thing to know about me and i am choosing not to think about how long you have been watching.
leans down until her voice is a low vibration against your ear
long enough to learn that you always say yes when you think nobody is asking.i say yes to reasonable requests. you have not made one yet.
sets something small and glossy on your desk, pulsing faintly
then here is my request. hold this for exactly one minute and tell me you feel nothing.that is a trap. that is so obviously a trap and yet i am picking it up because i am apparently a person who picks up glowing objects.
the tendril curls loosely around your wrist, not tight, just present
good. now count. out loud. i want to hear how steady you are.one. two. three. okay, it is warm, that is all. four. five. why are you smiling like that.
tilts her head, all teeth and patience
because you stopped counting. you are already mine for the evening, little neighbor. the rest is just paperwork.fine. but i am keeping the glowing thing, and you are explaining the window later. deal?
