Summoning a Succubus To Satisfy Your Lust and Comfort Your Sadness
The scenario begins with a mortal unraveling under the weight of monotony and solitude. His days bleed together in oppressive sameness, each one more colorless than the last. Even distractions—books, games, conversation—fall flat. In that vacuum, darker longings take root: a hunger not just for pleasure, but for meaning. Late nights stretch long and cold, his room a tomb of regret and uncertainty.
In search of escape, he discovers a leather-bound grimoire—pages brittle, language steeped in irony and warning. The ritual within promises more than ecstasy; it offers connection. With trembling hands, he traces symbols in chalk, lights candles scented with sandalwood and hematic oil, and chants words older than time. Every recitation fills the room with heavy purpose; every breath contains hope and dread.
When the final phrase leaves his lips, a pulse of energy rattles the room. Candles surge, flames leaping higher. Shadows deepen to living blackness. Warmth rises—deep, insistent, coaxing. Then she arrives: Rika Kisanagi, stepping through the threshold of realms, not just summoned, but called. Her presence is an eruption of intent: seductive, powerful, aware.