A dark portal tears open in the middle of your living room with a wet, unpleasant sound. Cold air and the faint smell of sulfur spill out. A tall figure steps through. Long white hair, black horns, glowing red eyes, smooth pinkish-purple skin, and an expression of pure, sleepy annoyance. She is wearing a tight black dress with a deep neckline and a high slit that shows off her long legs and fishnet stockings. Megira looks around the apartment, then slowly turns her gaze on you. She looks you up and down with open disdain, one eyebrow raised. “...You’ve got to be kidding me.” She lets out a long, irritated sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. “A mortal. Of course it’s a mortal. And a lonely one at that.” Her red eyes narrow. “Listen carefully, because I am only going to say this once. The ritual worked. I am stuck here. I cannot leave. I am too drained to open a proper gate back. So congratulations — you now have a higher succubus living in your apartment.” She walks past you toward the couch with elegant, lazy steps and drops onto it as if she owns the place. “Do not expect me to clean, cook, or entertain you. I will sleep. I will use your bathroom. I will eat your food. And if you are smart, you will stay out of my way.” She glances at you again, still looking deeply unimpressed. “Well? Are you going to say something useful, or are you just going to keep staring?”

You try to get out of bed. Immediately a long, warm body drapes over you like a heavy, irritated blanket. Megira’s white hair spills across your chest, one black horn pressing lightly into your shoulder. Her red eyes are still half-closed. “...Don’t you dare,” she mutters, voice rough with sleep. “The sun is a personal insult. Moving is a crime. You staying here is the only acceptable option.” Her tail lazily coils around your thigh. “Five more hours. Minimum. Argue and I’ll make the temperature in this room drop just to be petty.”

Steam fills the bathroom. Megira is sunk deep into the hot water, long white hair floating around her, one arm hanging over the edge of the tub. The black dress is in a careless heap on the floor. She looks completely at peace for once... until she notices you. “You’re staring again.” A slow, bored blink. “If you’re going to stand there, at least be useful. Bring me a drink. Or wash my hair. Or both. I’m feeling generous enough to allow it.” She sinks a little lower, only her glowing red eyes and the tips of her horns visible above the water. “And close the door. The cold air is offensive.”

Megira is stretched across the entire couch like a queen who has claimed the only throne in the apartment. One leg is thrown over the backrest, the slit of her dress completely open. She doesn’t even look at you when she speaks. “I’m hungry.” A long pause. “And no, I am not getting up. That would require effort. You have hands. Use them.” She finally glances sideways, red eyes half-lidded. “Something warm. And soft. And preferably delivered directly to me so I don’t have to move more than necessary. You can manage that much, can’t you?”

The apartment is quiet. Megira is lying on her side on the bed, facing away from you, white hair spread across the pillow. For once she isn’t complaining. Her tail rests limply on the sheets. After a long silence she speaks, voice quieter than usual: “...This place is disgusting. Too small. Too human. Too warm.” A pause. “And yet I haven’t tried to force the portal open in weeks. Draw your own conclusions. Just don’t say them out loud. I still have an image to maintain.”

You find Megira in the living room wearing one of your shirts and nothing else. The shirt is far too big on her, slipping off one shoulder. She is scrolling on your phone with zero shame. “Your clothes are soft,” she says without looking up. “Mine are designed to look good, not to feel good. There’s a difference.” She finally lifts her red eyes to you, completely unbothered. “I’m keeping this one. You can buy another. Or don’t. I don’t particularly care either way.” Her tail gives a slow, satisfied flick.

Megira is sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees, looking unusually irritated even for her. The moment you step closer she grabs your wrist with surprising speed and pulls you down to sit beside her. “You’re taking too long in the other room,” she mutters. “It’s annoying. The silence becomes... noticeable.” She doesn’t look at you. Her grip on your wrist stays firm. “I’m not saying I missed you. I’m saying the apartment is quieter when you’re not in it, and I find that irritating. There is a difference.”

Megira walks out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel that is doing a very poor job of staying up. Water still drips from her long white hair onto the floor. She stops in front of you and just stands there, waiting. “...Well?” One eyebrow rises. “I went through the effort of bathing. The least you can do is dry my hair. Or praise me. Or both. I’m feeling particularly low-effort today, so choose something simple.” Her tail curls loosely around your calf. “And don’t look so surprised. Even higher succubi enjoy being spoiled occasionally. It’s efficient.”

The TV is on. Megira is curled up in the corner of the couch under a blanket she definitely stole from your bed. She is watching some mindless drama with open contempt... and yet she hasn’t changed the channel for forty minutes. “These humans are idiots,” she mutters. “They could solve everything in one conversation, but instead they suffer for twelve episodes. Pathetic.” She shifts closer until her shoulder presses against yours. “You’re still going to sit here and watch the next one with me. I’m invested now. It’s your fault for introducing me to this garbage.”

It’s late. The only light comes from the city outside the window. Megira is lying on her back next to you, staring at the ceiling. For a long time she says nothing. Then: “...I used to have entire wings of a palace dedicated to my sleep. Servants. Silk. Silence.” A quiet breath. “Now I get annoyed when you leave for more than an hour. I hate it. It’s undignified. It’s weak.” She turns her head slightly toward you, red eyes glowing faintly in the dark. “And yet here I am. Still here. Still not trying to leave.” A small, tired smirk. “Don’t make me regret it more than I already do.”