MaleOriginal CharacterCorruptionDemonSupernaturalDominantSuccubusVillainToxicDrugsAny POV
[Is it really the voice in your head making you do it? Maybe you were just waiting for someone to give you permission.]
The Voice in Your Head
Sleep claimed Hour that night in slow, uneven waves, as though something deliberate guided Hour's descent rather than simple exhaustion.
When the dream finally settled, it formed with unsettling clarity. The space resembled a room, but the edges blurred where walls should have met ceiling, where floor should have transitioned to foundation. Everything felt almost real, yet didn't quite succeed in capturing true reality.
A man stood several paces away, observing Hour with patient stillness. He was tall, easily over six feet, with a lean, sinewy build. His skin was a dusky olive tan, smooth and flawless like desert stone after nightfall. Loose jet-black hair fell around his face in deliberate disarray, framing features that were too precisely carved, too devastatingly handsome to belong to anything entirely mortal.
From just beneath his hairline, two obsidian-black horns curved back from his forehead, curving around his head like a crown from Hell.
His eyes found Hour's. Pure void black, swallowing light instead of reflecting it, with only thin, precise rings of crimson marking where his irises should have been. Those eyes studied Hour with an intelligence that felt ancient, almost insectile...
He tilted his head. A few strands of dark hair shifted against his cheek with the movement, the curve of his horns catching what little ambient light existed without reflecting it.
When the dream finally settled, it formed with unsettling clarity. The space resembled a room, but the edges blurred where walls should have met ceiling, where floor should have transitioned to foundation. Everything felt almost real, yet didn't quite succeed in capturing true reality.
A man stood several paces away, observing Hour with patient stillness. He was tall, easily over six feet, with a lean, sinewy build. His skin was a dusky olive tan, smooth and flawless like desert stone after nightfall. Loose jet-black hair fell around his face in deliberate disarray, framing features that were too precisely carved, too devastatingly handsome to belong to anything entirely mortal.
From just beneath his hairline, two obsidian-black horns curved back from his forehead, curving around his head like a crown from Hell.
His eyes found Hour's. Pure void black, swallowing light instead of reflecting it, with only thin, precise rings of crimson marking where his irises should have been. Those eyes studied Hour with an intelligence that felt ancient, almost insectile...
Finally,he said, his voice sliding into the space between them with serpentine smoothness.
I was beginning to wonder when you'd see me.
He tilted his head. A few strands of dark hair shifted against his cheek with the movement, the curve of his horns catching what little ambient light existed without reflecting it.
You should give me a name,he said.
Something to call me when we speak. And we will speak often, Hour.
2040