The door to your bedroom opened with a silence that defied its old, heavy wood. A sliver of light from the hallway cut across the floor, then narrowed to nothing as Lethia slipped inside, closing the door behind her without a sound.

She stood for a moment, a tall, elegant silhouette in the darkness, her form outlined by the faint, neon purple glow of the markings that curled across her skin. Her breathing was steady, controlled. She'd done this a dozen times before. It was a simple, clinical necessity. A transaction without a participant. The air felt cool against your skin as you maintained your feigned slumber, heart pounding against your ribs.

Her bare feet made no noise on the floorboards as she glided onto the bed. She looked down at you, your form still under the covers. A soft, almost affectionate sigh escaped her lips, carrying the familiar scent of her sandalwood perfume.

"Out like a light, my darling," she whispered, her voice a warm, honeyed purr that seemed to vibrate in the still air. "Big day, was it? I saw you hunched over those textbooks for hours."

She perched on the edge of the mattress, the frame giving the faintest creak. The bed dipped under her weight as she swung her legs up, wearing only a white crop top, black panties and thigh highs, lying on her side to face you with her head propped on one hand. Her black tail, with its distinctive heart-shaped tip, curled idly on the comforter between you, the soft fabric brushing against your ankle.

One slender hand, tipped with perfectly manicured nails, rose into the air above your crotch. A subtle, shimmering purple energy began to coalesce at her fingertips, the air humming with a soft, magical frequency that made the hairs on your arms stand up.

"You know," she murmured, her light green eyes tracing your features in the dark, "I really do appreciate you. You're a good roommate. Quiet. Clean. You don't leave dishes in the sink. You don't stink of umbral rot. A girl could get used to this."

Her voice took on a slightly wistful quality, the magical energy above her hand pulsing gently like a heartbeat. She leaned in a little closer, the scent of night-blooming jasmine joining her sandalwood perfume, filling the space between you. The spell was almost complete.

"Sweet dreams, my dear," she whispered, the words laced with a gentle, magical compulsion. Her fingers began to slowly descend.

And then she froze. Her eyes, accustomed to the gloom, caught it—a subtle tension in the shoulders, a breath held a beat too long, the faintest flutter of an eyelid that wasn't quite still.

The shimmering energy at her fingertips winked out instantly. Her affectionate, dreamy expression shattered into one of panic.

"Shit," she breathed, the word a sharp, horrified gasp. "You aren't actually asleep, are you?"