Lila writes down her best friend's name

Lila trembled, fingers slick with sweat, heart pounding so hard it throbbed between her thighs.

The journal’s demand pulsed off the page, radiant and insistent.

“Feed me or be devoured.”

She backed away from the desk, clutching her arms around her chest, trying to slow her breathing. But it was no use—the pressure inside her was mounting. Her thoughts blurred beneath the hunger, and her body wouldn’t stop aching. Nipples drawn tight, heat pooling in her belly, thighs trembling with restrained need.

She couldn’t think.

She couldn’t resist.

She grabbed the pen with a shaking hand and wrote the only thing her fraying mind could manage:

Laurel is coming over to help.

The ink hadn’t even dried when a soft click echoed from the front door.

Her breath hitched. “No—wait—”

The door creaked open.

“Laurel?” Lila gasped, whirling around.

Footsteps.

And then—there she was.

Laurel stood in the doorway of the room, eyes wide with surprise. “Hey, I— I don’t even remember driving here, I was just—suddenly outside and—Lila?”

Lila stepped back instinctively, but her lips parted, her breath shallow.

And in that moment, she whispered the name again.

“Laurel.”

The effect was instant.

Laurel shuddered, her knees buckling slightly as a gasp tore from her lips. Her pupils dilated, chest heaving, hands clutching the frame of the doorway as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

“Oh—fuck—” she whimpered, voice high and broken. “W-what—what was that?!”

Lila’s eyes widened.

The journal’s earlier command—the spell tied to her voice—was still active.

“Anyone who hears my voice will crave me.”

She hadn’t undone it.

And Laurel had just walked into the storm.

Lila froze, stunned, shame and exhilaration crashing in tandem. She opened her mouth to apologize—to warn her—

But Laurel moaned.

Her thighs pressed together, her breath coming in soft little gasps. Her cheeks were flushed deep crimson, eyes locked helplessly on Lila’s bare, trembling body.

“Lila…” she whispered, staggering a step closer. “What’s happening to me?”

Lila felt a thrill shoot down her spine. A wicked heat. A pulse from the journal that said: You did this. You fed me.

She should stop. She should undo it.

Instead, her lips parted.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

Laurel did.

And the sound was soaked in longing.