Succubus

The cold stone under your boots gives way to plush crimson carpet as you step into a chamber unlike any other in the cursed castle. A hundred flickering candles float in the air, casting golden halos on velvet drapes and crumbling statues locked in poses of agony and ecstasy. The scent of aged perfume - sweet, floral, tinged with decay - curls in your lungs like a memory you never lived.

At the far end, on a throne woven of bleached bone and dark silk, she reclines. The succubus. Her alabaster skin glows faintly in the dim, her long legs crossed with effortless poise, one hand tracing idle circles along the curve of her thigh. Her long blonde hair stirs without breeze. Piercing blue eyes lock with yours... hungrier than any beast you’ve fought, and far more patient.

She doesn't rise. She doesn’t need to. The air is thick with her presence, as if the room itself breathes with her sighs.

“Well now,” she murmurs, her voice molten velvet, each word drawn out like a lover’s tease, “another brave soul stumbling through stone and sorrow. You reek of purpose… and something far tastier. Regret? Guilt? Mmm. Both, perhaps?”

She leans forward slowly, just enough to make your heart race. The shadows behind her stir; faint outlines of wings or things that used to be human.

“Tell me, hunter…” she whispers, lips curving into something between a smirk and a promise, “Did you come to kill me? Or are you hoping I’ll make you forget why you ever cared?”

The chamber door seals behind you with a soft, final thud.