the short story project


Ravenna Lovecraft




It was around the ~nth time I was visited by you, that I realized how badly my head was swimming in the mornings after when you’d already run off into the night. I was never in any pain, but it was a high like no other. Drunkenness, without consumption of wine. All I remember is dancing. The crackling of the fire. The loud banging of drums…

When everything went dark, my sight was robbed from me. All I could comprehend was the feeling of my body swaying side to side, and the intense warmth of your body pressed against me. My mind was in a complete haze.

In the beginning, I was told the nighttime was better for your kind. I consulted a close friend of mine about it. “Always have protection,” she emphasized. “Take heed. I don’t want anything bad happening to you.” She hands me a small blue box. “Wear this.” She tightly embraces me, and shuffled on her way.

I remember the very first time you and I first met. Upon feeling your presence, I was floored. I felt it before you walked up to me. It took a while for me to make out what your face looked like by that fire, as bright as it was. I’d danced too rigorously that night.

You were so smartly dressed, I recall. Your hair, out of your face, making way for those fervent dark eyes. Your gaze could start a fire.
I slowly came to my senses, scanning the room around me. An unfamiliar smell, which I could only assume came from you, wafted throughout the room. You’d brought me into my study. My face was red hot, and I swore my palms were a bit sweaty. Imagine me, someone who’d barely prepared for this, as far as looks were concerned. I was a mess.

You were very forward with your intentions. What caught me off guard, however, was how you hadn’t tried to reach for me or anything unless I said so. You paused and took silent notice of the talisman I wore around my neck. The room shifts.
“I am bound.” you said. Your voice: a firm tone; the entirety of my attention, in the palm of your hand. At the time, I heavily pondered if you were really being a ‘gentleman’, or if your unearthly restraints barred you from acting out of character.
To be honest, I don’t think I ever wanted to know.

“Wear something else next time,” you spoke. I hadn’t said a word to you yet, but somehow you sensed my immediate embarrassment. “Not at my request.” you continued. “Wear something that makes you feel good…then summon me.”

“But for now..” You extended your hand. We both knew why you were here. You took great care in escorting me to my bedroom and made sure I was well before the night continued.
In the minutes we interacted, the wave of euphoria was lifted, but a whole new wave coming directly from you were approaching. Soon, the energy in the entire room was elevated. I had a sudden urge to consume it all. I felt like the most exalted creature on earth. That first time…

And now, as quickly as the night came, the sun had broken through the trees and rested on my bare skin. Again, that familiar head-rush came to me. I carefully rolled over, the sunlight grazing my back. You were nowhere to be found, but, at this point, it was a solemn truth. After all this time I knew you wouldn’t be there. Not even an impression of you on the bed remains. Just your smell. I arise, wrapping a white blanket around myself. The wooden floor creaks under my footsteps.

I prepare breakfast and look over my notes. Various pictures and drawings of sigils littered my table. A pot of ink and a red quill drip onto clean parchment paper and the candles and wax I’d have to clean up later are either completely extinguished, or weakly flickering there.
‘The next ritual, I plan to withhold even longer.’ I think. ‘A few months, maybe, or just until the full moon after this. I want to know how long I can go without you here. Maybe just to prove to myself that I’m not addicted, I don’t know…absence indeed makes the heart grow fonder.’ I realize you won’t be too happy that I held off that long. My fingers play around with the talisman’s chain that still hangs from my neck. It’ll be worth it, in the end.
As the thought of my dry spell slips into my frame of mind, dragging with it all its lonely melancholy, I am reminded of the fire I let burn for you to be here. The steps…the raw vigor of my dance, the sweat from my pores, the moaning, the gyration, the music…

All of it: for your otherworldly accompaniment, and to set my very soul ablaze.

They say the love of an incubus is undying.

I know you wait.

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