A devil takes credit

A ripple passed through the air like heat over asphalt—subtle at first, then sudden. The corners of the room darkened, shadows stretching longer than they should. Lila froze, naked and trembling, the journal clutched to her chest like a shield. The air thickened with something… sultry—warm, musky, electric.

Then he stepped forward from nowhere. No door. No sound. Just was.

Tall. Impossibly beautiful. Skin like polished obsidian, eyes glowing a dull, ember red. Horns swept back from his temples, curling elegantly, and his smile—sharp, sensual, knowing—unfolded like a secret you weren’t ready to hear.

“Looks like someone’s been enjoying their little gift,” he purred, voice velvet and smoke.

Lila’s breath hitched. “You—”

“Mm.” He took a slow step forward, gaze traveling down her body with brazen appreciation. “I wondered when you’d figure out how deep it could go.”

She backed up, teeth gritted. “Change me back. Now. This is your fault.”

He chuckled—low, rich, rolling through her like a drumbeat. “Oh, darling. The journal is yours. I only delivered it. What you did with it? That was all you.” He cocked his head, mock sympathy painted across his perfect features. “But I do admire your creativity.”

She threw the journal at him. It passed through his chest like mist.

“You lied! You tricked me—this isn’t what I wanted!”

“Oh, but you wrote it,” he said, stepping closer. “And the journal—my sweet, obedient little artifact—only listens. It doesn’t undo. No takebacks. Not in this realm.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, chest heaving.

He smirked, eyes dropping shamelessly. “Though, if it’s any comfort, I think you wear it well.”

“Fuck you,” she snapped.

He chuckled again. “Maybe later.”

Lila flinched, suddenly pulling her arms in tighter, as if she could hide the truth of what she'd become.

“But,” he said, his tone softening with the dangerous affection of a predator toying with prey, “you're not pregnant.”

She froze.

“You wrote that you wanted his babies,” he continued, circling her slowly now. “You didn’t write that you have them. Words matter, Lila. Intent—desire—those guide the ink. You asked, not commanded. The journal heard your wish. Not your will.”

Her stomach unclenched just slightly—but only slightly.

“And the cock?” He clicked his tongue. “Impressive, really. I can’t take credit for that one. That was all you. Though I must say—” His eyes lingered on her shaft, still half-hardened, heavy between her legs. “—you did give yourself a masterpiece.”

She shivered under his gaze.

“You’ve only begun to see what you can do, Lila,” he whispered, stepping close enough that his heat kissed her skin. “Don’t be afraid of the journal. Be afraid of what you haven’t written yet.”