•☁︎'𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐲 || ᵖᵃʳᵏ ʲⁱᵐⁱⁿ

𝑰

➪ꏳꀍꍏᖘ 001

Amala was not an ordinary among her youth.

No matter how mundane the colour of her hair,an inky black that hung down her shoulders in coiled curls.
Neither the deep yet bland colour of her dark eyes,which were contact lenses by the way.The over fitting form of her beige coloured cargo's,the cardigan that covered most of her form.

If it made her appear more normal and human like than she actually was to be,it would suffice to belong to her as of then.

Amala was a demonic succubi.

One that lived amongst the 21'st centuries generation of people,humans who deluded themselves of fetishism.

She hated the thought of being fetishized,of immediately being sized to only the worth of what her immortality encountered,of being only that of what her alluring gaze,the sinful form of her luscious body,or the seductive aura of her energy that could lure,men and women alike,made her to be what humans fantasized about.

Maybe she was quite the unique of her kind, seeing that most cubbi creatures actually adored how they were wanted by so many,were thought of in such inappropriate ways by so many,the fetishment of this dear century.

She on the other hand, would appreciated it to a full degree fucking much,if she would stop attracting the shittiest of humans to her by the look of her eyes,the grazing of her hand,the mere scent of her prehormones.

Unfortunately,there wasn't an off switch to exist as a demon such as her,no matter how much she hated the assault of so many gazes,how much she hated the stench of arousal that tailed her almost everywhere,or the lingering stares if she dared forgot slipping in her contacts for that day,the whistles of old and married men that followed her into dark alleys on nights she dared to want to have fun.

Being an demon doned on that of seductive allusions,wasn't all that great when it didn't come with respect or boundaries.

For Amala,either way.
The rest of her kind couldn't care less as long as they were feeding.

The same hair,coloured an inky blue black as it said on the dye box,was currently being curled around Amala's index finger repeatedly as she intensely tried to keep her focus to the overweight teacher stood in front of the lecturer hall.

Mr.Jung, the dude who had to teach her the basics of his language on the daily, the never ending pickle of being interested in the cultures of humankind having her pick mandarin as a side subject.

It pricked her now,in her side,as she struggled to keep her posture from leaning into the sharp edge of the table.

Fatigue was eating at her after a feeding spree this weekend.

Yet,she loved how fluidly his tongue spoke,the sounds so soft and gentle,like silk against her sensitive skin after a hot shower,she liked it so much that she found herself immediately infatuated with the language of his mother tongue.

Now though,she may have started to regret some of her study choices,as she struggled to keep the yawn that rose in her mouth inside and discreet,the eagle eyes of her lecturer never failing to miss much,and oh how he fucking loved to get rid of each student one by one before the end of his class amended.

She chose to focus herself on the primary lettering of today,her gaze fixed on how smoothly a brush must've glided across the paper that was most possibly printed.

Yet.

How would it be for that particular human if they were to poise their wrist to the movements of the brush,the soft swish of a paint brush against the flat surface of a smooth paper page,the deep dark trenches of black paint colouring the pale mists of them.