She reached out, her hand shaking. As our fingers locked, the pink aura around her pulsed. The Lustful Demon had found a new obsession, and my quiet evening had officially been traded for a lifetime of explaining why "watching a movie together" wasn't a form of torture.
I barely had time to nod before she was in my personal space. She didn't lead with claws or hellfire. Instead, she held up a page of her book depicting two people holding hands. Her face flushed a deep, demonic crimson.
The air in the living room was thick with the scent of sulfur and overpriced strawberry pancakes. I hadn't expected the ritual to actually work; I just wanted to see if the chalk from that sketchy occult shop was legit. Then, with a puff of pink smoke and a sound like a popped bubblegum bubble, she appeared.