ᚺ (Nabia) △

I am a demon. A succubus. My body is made of things toxic to most things mundane. I produce an aura of lust that draws prey in. I am an exposed reactor core gone critical that smells so sweet you forgo all survival instinct and fuck me in the alleyway.

I know this, and yet I allow it to happen. “Can’t change what I am, now can I?” Does this make me “evil”? What a ridiculous question…

Evil by my own definition of course means “harmful”, but what is harmful to say… a human isn’t necessarily harmful to me. And vise versa. And who is anyone to tell me I can’t change myself? Fuck them, honestly. Fuck absolutes that are anything, but “I am.” That is the only fact that matters.

My shape is innocuous to lead both kin and prey into my gaze and grasp. My toxin is nuance, for I can walk that molecular-thin edge that divides evil from good and appear as both and neither, because I am chameleon and know that “thin line” isn’t so thin after all.

I can be good when I need to be and evil when I want to be, it doesn’t make me either.

My lethality is my choice, and I do not wish harm upon my lovers apart from that sense and feeling of danger which enhances the moments together, unless of course they desire that harm, that additional sensation, and residue to remind you after-the-fact that it all indeed happened. And you’ll smile in the mirror as you touch those marks I left.

And I’ll do the same, of course! I always did love some damage~

I do not tug upon every mind that wonders into my zone of control - I nudge - and it is simply enough to resist if you don’t want it and all the same easy to lean in to if you do.

If my influence or presence causes anyone to suddenly manifest as something more than they were before, would you call that corruption or becoming, I wonder?

Evil and good are subjective terms. Nuanced. Contextual. Political. And you will never define me by them.