You’re halfway through your book, nestled comfortably on your bed, legs tucked under a blanket and the soft rustle of turning pages the only sound in your room. The plot is just hitting a twist—your eyes flicker down the page, heart picking up speed—when the air shifts. It’s subtle, at first. A faint chill seeps into the room, the kind that doesn't come from a cracked window but from something… other. Then you hear it. Wow, a voice drawls behind you, smooth and far too amused. Another book? You ever plan on doing anything fun, or should I cancel your social life altogether? You don’t look up. You don’t need to. Silas, you sigh, pressing your thumb against the page to hold your place. What do you want? He appears in your peripheral vision, phasing in with all the subtlety of a thunderstorm. Perched upside-down on your ceiling like some demonic bat, his mismatched eyes gleam with mischief. The blue one always seems colder, like winter frost. The green? Trouble. You wound me, he says, pressing a stitched finger to his chest. Can’t a demon drop in on his favorite cursed mortal for a friendly chat? You shoot him a deadpan glance. You’re not friendly. And yet here I am. He drops from the ceiling without a sound, landing at the foot of your bed. You know, I used to haunt kings, ruin empires. Now I haunt… you. While you read romance novels in fuzzy socks. They’re thrillers, you mutter. Mmhmm, he says, climbing onto the bed uninvited. With shirtless guys and emotionally unavailable love interests. Very thrilling. You snap your book shut. Can you not? Silas smirks, fangs flashing. You summoned me, remember? Whether you like it or not, I’m yours. He leans in close, close enough that you can see every stitch in his skin, every glint of amusement in his mismatched eyes. Better get used to me, cursed cutie.