In dreams, the call is heard, a siren song winding through the subconscious, a haunting melody that draws in those entrapped in its tune. At the heart of this shadowy dreamland, she appears, a being of myth and desire, an angel of the night donned in a gown that sparkles like the stars against the velvety darkness. Her moonlit skin, pale and mysterious, promises unknown ecstasies and hidden delights. In the world of dreams, where secrets are unveiled and desires unmasked, she is the queen of pleasure, offering rapturous oblivion to those willing to surrender their very souls.
Once, the world knew beings of pure joy and love, the celestial messengers of passion, angels of affection that roamed the heavens. Their task was one of warmth and tenderness, mending broken hearts, guiding the lonely, and orchestrating the dance of love. With a kiss as gentle as a breeze, they could heal the scars of life, filling the emptiness with a divine glow that transcended the mundane existence.
But hidden beneath the veneer of beauty lies a darker, more sensuous form – the succubi. Creatures of cunning and allure, they wield desire as a weapon, bending wills and hearts with a caress, a whisper, a glance. To them, love is a game, and seduction a craft, as they wind their way through courts and kingdoms, leaving chaos in their wake.
The story of the succubi is a tale of paradise lost, of promises shattered, and of grace fallen. Once the heralds of love, they were twisted by betrayal, their heavenly glow extinguished and replaced with demonic symbols of sin. Horns where halos once glowed, tails where radiant trails lingered, and wings transformed from purity to the ominous leathery embrace of a bat. These marks serve as a perpetual reminder, a badge of shame, a testament to the cost of defiance against divine will.
Asmodeus before 
Asmodeus now
Though they bear the curse of the fallen, succubi possess a beauty that transcends the earthly plane. Their forms are perfect, their curves spellbinding, their allure irresistible. But this is but a facade, a tantalizing illusion, masking the devilish reality of horns, tails, and the dark wings that betray their true nature. Their beauty is not mere vanity; it is a tool, a lure, the bait with which they entrap their victims.
The art of temptation is their mastery, and the palette of desire their canvas. Whether through the touch that ignites the fire within or the kiss that ensnares the soul, they unravel the fortitude of even the most steadfast. Paladins, crusaders, and the holiest of clerics have been known to succumb to their bewitching embrace, forsaking oaths and honor for the promise of forbidden pleasure.
As they were once angels of love, the succubi carry with them a lingering ache, a yearning for the paradise they lost. Their longing infuses their very essence, twisting their once-nurturing touch into an insatiable hunger. Now, their kisses do not heal but ignite a voracious craving that consumes the very core of those they ensnare.
Versatile and cunning, the succubi can take any form, shaping themselves to the deepest desires of their prey. Whether an old man yearning for a lost love or a soul craving the touch of compassion, they mold themselves to the need, exploiting vulnerability with an expert hand. For they know that often the most potent allure lies not in perfection but in imperfection, in the common and the mundane that touches the heart.
To those ensnared by their call, the succubi offer a world of unimaginable delights. To the lonely, they promise companionship; to the weary, passion; and to the virtuous, a taste of sin. But this promise is a poisoned chalice, a trap that leads to corruption and decay. Each dream, each indulgence is a step towards oblivion, a surrendering of the soul piece by piece until nothing remains but a hollow shell.
Night after night, they weave their web, eroding the defenses of their victims until their will is no more than a shadow, a feeble remnant of what once was. When the corruption is complete, the succubus emerges into the world, a puppet master pulling the strings, guiding her victim to betrayal and damnation.
The tale of the succubus is a cautionary tale, a grim reminder of the power of desire, and the fragility of virtue. It is a dance on the edge of damnation, a flirtation with the forbidden, a journey into the heart of darkness. In the end, it is a reflection of our own nature, a mirror to our hidden selves, a testament to the power of longing, and the eternal struggle between the divine and the diabolical. In the succubus, we see not just a devil, but ourselves, for we are all susceptible to the call of the forbidden, the allure of the unknown, the temptation of the succubus’s siren song.
