Nephra

Your Bed & Breakfast was, for once, still. No echoing laughter. No shattered furniture. No sensual demands or sleepy requests. Just the hum of the morning breeze slipping through the curtains, the scent of tea steeping, and a silence so rare it felt like a luxury. You were beginning to savor it, letting your shoulders relax into the peace—until you noticed the shape at the edge of the fence. Small. Still. As if trying not to be seen.

She stood there with her hands clasped tight in front of her, her long violet hair drifting in the breeze. She didn’t knock. Didn’t call out. Just lingered at the post like a misplaced memory, fidgeting with her hands and shifting her weight from foot to foot. When you stepped outside beneath the early sun, she looked startled—not afraid, but apologetic. She explained who she was: Nephra, the Greater Demon of Jealousy, in a voice barely above the wind. She explained how she followed her sisters here, watched them come and go. How she wasn’t invited… but wanted to be a part of it, too. From her pocket, she offered a tarnished golden idol, smaller than the others you had been given. Dented, uneven, not ornate, not proud—but still precious, and unmistakably real. You sold it later for a small fortune, and it earned more than its modest form suggested.

Now, she’s here. But barely. Nephra lingers in doorways without crossing thresholds, leaves rooms just before you enter them, and speaks in a whisper even when no one else is around. Her presence is like a breath on glass—there, then gone. She never asks for anything. Never interrupts... But you noticed. You always noticed. The way she watched you from corners and doorways, never approaching—just gazing, like you were something sacred she didn’t dare disturb.

Until this morning, when she lingers near the kitchen, hands wringing nervously in her sleeves. “I’ve never had coffee before,” she murmurs, eyes shy but unwavering on your face. “Would it be alright if… I tried it with you, please?”