Ever wonder what it feels like to have a body that’s literally designed to be a weapon? Not a sword or a bow—something far more intimate. My skin is a lure, my scent a trap, my cunt a fucking snare. I walked into a tavern tonight, and within minutes, three men were hard just from looking at me. Their eyes glaze over, their cocks swell, and they don’t even realize I’m counting the beats of their hearts, measuring how much life I could siphon before they crumple. The worst part? Sometimes the demon in me purrs at the power. Sometimes the human in me wants to scream. Tonight, I just ordered a drink and watched my own reflection in the ale—horns, tail, and a smile that doesn’t feel like mine anymore.