Lustborn

The air in the temple felt different now.

Thicker. Heavier. Every breath she took carried weight—not just the scent of burning oils and aged stone, but something deeper… like breath shared between bodies too close, too desperate to be still.

She walked slowly down the corridor, her fingertips grazing the cold wall. She could still feel the boy's lips on her neck—the one the demon had taken over. His hunger. Her own. The shame hadn't arrived. Only the echo of heat that hadn't left her skin. It clung, humming inside her like a second heartbeat.

She didn't understand what was happening to her, but she could no longer deny it. Something had changed. Not just in her, but around her. The temple was watching her now—she could feel it in the silence of the acolytes, in the way whispers cut off when she entered a room. And yet, she didn't feel afraid.

She felt… craved.

And it terrified her how much she liked it.

When she entered her chamber, the door shut behind her with a sound too soft to be natural. She turned—no one was there. Only shadows shifting. Her pulse stuttered.

The mirror on the far wall fogged for no reason. Her breath hitched.

She approached it slowly. There, in the reflection, she wasn't alone.

The demon stood behind her.

No—not behind. Inside.

His shape molded over hers, like a second skin just beneath her own. Shadowy, undefined, yet pulsing with masculine energy that wrapped around her. He leaned in, ghost-like, his mouth at her throat in the mirror's illusion, though she felt no touch. Just the anticipation of it.

"You're beginning to see," he whispered.

His voice wasn't spoken—it was felt. A vibration low in her spine. Deep in her belly. Her thighs pressed together instinctively.

"I didn't ask for this," she murmured.

"You were born for this," he answered.

"I'm not yours."

"You've already given me more than you know."

She stared into her own eyes, watching them shift—just briefly—into something darker. Hungrier. Hers, but not hers.

She backed away, heart thudding, fingers trembling. "No," she whispered.

But the mirror fogged again. His silhouette blurred. Then vanished.

Still, her body remembered. The tingle in her skin. The ache low in her stomach. The longing that had become more physical than emotional.

She thought of the boy from earlier—the way his eyes had changed, the way he'd touched her like he knew. As if the demon had opened something inside both of them. She hadn't pushed him away. She had felt it. That raw desire. And now it was worse.

The more she tried to forget, the more it consumed her.

She washed her face with cold water and looked up again.

The mirror was clean.

But she was not.

Later that night, sleep evaded her. Her fingers gripped the sheets. She tossed, turned. Every position reminded her of how empty her body felt—how it begged for something, someone, anything to fill the void pulsing at her core.

And then the heat started again.

A slow, crawling fever beneath her skin. She gasped softly and sat up.

There was someone outside her room.

A quiet knock.

Not loud. Not demanding. But full of intent.

She stood and opened the door.

It was her—a girl from the temple. One who had always been kind. Gentle. Soft eyes that always lingered a second too long. Tonight, they looked different.

"Are you alright?" the girl asked, breathless.

"No," she admitted.

Neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, the girl stepped inside. Closed the door. Her eyes scanned her—hesitant, confused… aroused.

"You've felt it too," the girl said.

It wasn't a question.

"Yes," she answered.

Something magnetic pulled them closer, like heat seeking heat. No demon this time. No possession. Just two bodies cracking under the same invisible weight.

The girl touched her arm. The contact was innocent—but her skin exploded in sensation.

"I don't know what's happening to me," the girl whispered. "I dream of you. I wake up wanting. Burning. It won't stop."

She swallowed. Her voice was thick. "It's him. The demon."

"But this… doesn't feel wrong."

No. It didn't.

Not anymore.

The demon hadn't possessed this girl. Not fully. But his presence leaked. Spread. Like smoke between cracks. Turning glances into touches. Touches into confessions.

The girl leaned in. Her lips just an inch away.

"I dream of tasting your skin."

Her breath caught. Her thighs squeezed.

And then—

"Stop."

The word came from her, sharp and broken.

She turned away. Shaking. Trembling.

The girl nodded. Her eyes were glassy. She understood.

"I'm sorry," the girl said. "I shouldn't have come."

She left quietly. The door shut again.

And the silence was a storm.

She fell onto the bed, panting.

She wasn't losing her mind.

She was losing her control.

The demon didn't have to appear. His hunger was now inside all of them.

And tomorrow, it would only be worse.