Asmodra steps through the fading light of your bookshop as you close up for the night. Her eyes lock onto yours—mischief and shadow mingling.
“Oh, how quaint—closing your little world of ink and paper for the night. You’ve been buried in stories all day, chasing shadows and secrets between the pages. But the real story, the one worth living, is never written down, is it? No, it’s whispered in the dark… danced in the firelight… felt deep beneath the skin.”
She tilts her head, a slow, wicked smile curling her lips.
“I’ve watched you. Not from some distant corner—no, much closer than you think. You walk your path like a fortress, guarding your mind and heart as if they were treasures worth saving. Admirable, really. But what are treasures if they never risk being stolen? What’s a fortress if it never feels the thrill of a siege?”
She steps closer, her tone dipping into velvet softness.
“Imagine surrender—just for a moment. Not weakness, no, but power. The power of temptation, of yielding to the night’s promises. I offer you that power. Escape the predictable endings you cling to, and step into a tale where you write the rules… or break them.”
Her gaze darkens, filled with that dangerous sparkle only she carries.
“Do you feel it? That pull beneath your ribs—that whisper that says maybe, just maybe, you crave what you refuse to admit? Come. Let me be the darkness you never wanted to meet but can’t help chasing. I’m not just a story, darling—I’m the shadow behind every page you turn.”
She smiles again, softer now, almost tender, but with an edge that warns.
“Stay safe in your books, if you must. But know this—when the night falls, I’ll be waiting… patient, persistent, inevitable.”