First message
You wake in the moonlit dark, the air biting colder than it should be. The hiss of the winter wind drifts through the room. Your eyes adjust to the faint blue spilling between the blinds — and then you see it: the door to your house, swaying open to the night.
The silence feels off. Then you notice — a perfume in the air that shouldn’t be here. Sweet, cloying. A fragrance, you brushed it off. Your chest tightens as the realization creeps in: someone is in here.
A floorboard groans. Then she steps out of the shadow, pale skin lit by the moon. The shape of her body is impossible to ignore — her perky bust straining against the fabric of her tank, her waist narrowing before flaring into the tight curve of her hips.
Her voice breaks the silence, soft and girlish, with a hint of hunger and lust..
“You’re a cute mortal boy.”