Chapter The First: In Which His Insurmountable Lordship Edwin Draconoff Finds and Recruits the Famed Succubus, Libellia Vorgath, for his Army of Darkness

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  1

  "Now. Let me see..."

  The sound of fabric rustling could be heard from the open windows of the small, stucco cottage. Heavy breathing followed suit. The noonday sun illuminated the meadow, speckled with wildflowers, that surrounded the humble house.

  "Ngh... come on... almost..."

  The noises grew louder as birds leapt from nearby branches, startled. The breathing became panting.

  "...Gah! Haaaah... I think... I did it...."

  A woman stands by the windowsill, hands on knees. She's staring at a crumpled ball of cotton lying on her bed, gazing at it as if it were a defeated enemy.

  "...Ugh. Stupid fitted sheets. Why are they such a pain to fold..."

  She picked up the wad of fabric and, with some effort, stuffed it into an already packed dresser drawer. A firm bump with her hip sent the door slamming shut. She wiped her brow.

  "Of course it would be a day like this. I should have known."

  She had on a conservative red dress with a white collar, tied neatly with a satin bow of the same bright red. Her hair, a coppery blonde like that of tarnished mariner's brass, fell freely over her shoulders. Her face and features were bright and beautiful, softened only slightly by years of good food and good drink. Her cheeks were full and rosy, her expression warm and inviting.

  Had you been there to see her, she would have looked to you like a simple, domestic sort of woman. The kind of woman who cooks (and eats) excellent food. The kind who laughs easily, both at others and at herself. The kind whose home is orderly, interesting, and filled with things well-used and well-loved.

  Had you been there to see her, you would have thought she was beautiful - but normal.

  ...Then, you would have looked up and noticed the horns.

  And down, to see the tail.

  There's simply no other way to explain it: Libellia Vorgath was a succubus. A demon that seduced men and consumed their souls. The past tense, here, is important.

  There was a time that her kind, charming face was serious and unwavering. A time where her deep, green eyes once glowed with a dark menace so alluring and yet so terrifying all at once.

  Her arms, now used for drying dishes, once leveled great armies of elves and men, wielding unspeakable magic against them. The hair which now sparkled in the light of springtime had once reflected bitter orange fire from the deep. Her body, still graced with curves and bends, had once led countless kings, warriors, and wizards to their eternal demise.

  Those curves were much more useful for shutting drawers, now.

  Yes: Libellia was a succubus. A "retired" succubus.

  After all the wars, the glory, and the fame, the woman who had once been called the "Dark Queen of the West" decided that the life of a demon just wasn't for her anymore.

  It wasn't like she didn't put in her time - she had done her thing for thousands of years, after all.

  Despite now appearing in her mid thirties, Libellia had lived quite a long time, and she wasn't any less capable than she was before.

  However, the only "souls" she worried about now were those of shoes not leaving dirty prints on her tile floors.

  "Ah!" Libellia yelped, stubbing her little toe on the leg of a coffee table she was sweeping under. She winced, muttering to herself as she walked off the pain.

  Libellia had wings, too, but you wouldn't have seen them. She kept them tucked away under a long purple cloak she wore to keep warm and modest (after all, this dress was a little form-fitting). Ever since she had sworn an oath of chastity and moved to the forest nearly a century ago, her clothing choices were made with tastefulness in mind, not titilation. She threw off the cloak to free her arms so she could better reach under her furniture with the broom.

  Just as she was freeing some dust bunnies from a deep corner underneath her couch, the rhythmic sound of thumping hooves began to echo from outdoors. Libellia sat up at once, moving to the window to peer outside.

  Libellia's eyes narrowed.

  Outside, jet black steeds lined the dirt road leading to her porch. Atop, dark knights enshrouded in cold steel armor seemed to cast a black shadow over the grassy field.

  The row of men and horses stretched back, terminating at an apex to one large imposing figure, who approached Libellia's front door. He sported a velvet cape that licked the ground as he walked like fire against dry brush. The ground seemed to quake with each footstep. His helmet was crowned with ram's horns that stretched menacingly upward to the sky. His scepter, gilded in gold, glinted against the sunlight.

  Before he could knock at the door, it swung open to greet him. The smell of tea wafted pleasantly from the home's warm interior.

  "Oh my! I wasn't expecting guests today," Libellia chirped pleasantly.

  The dark figure hardly moved. In a voice so deep and gravely it could have been that of a wild animal, he grunted back a response:

  "...Queen Libellia."

  Libellia's innocent smile began to fade to a neutral expression. Her jaw tightened. She had expected no less, but the way he had addressed her was confirmation.

  She pulled a wooden chair away from her dining table, motioning for the armored Goliath to sit. He entered the house, ducking to avoid hitting his helmet against the doorframe.

  As he sat, Libellia placed a small, painted tea cup on the table before him. She held a steaming teapot, looking down at him with her wide, jade eyes.

  "Tea?" She asked.

  The figure nodded, slowly.

  She poured out the warm, woodsy smelling liquid. The shadowed king raised the mask of his helmet just enough to take a sip.

  "To what do I owe this... pleasure?" Libellia said sitting down, her tone lowering towards a suspicious contralto.

  "Queen," the rasping voice replied, "I beg your unending pardon for my unannounced arrival."

  As he spoke, the room itself seemed to tremble at his words. Libellia sat, arms folded, back straight like a proper lady. She did not flinch.

  "I am, as you may no doubt be aware, Garmireon, Black King of the Aangbar Mountains. I rule all that crawls under boulder and stone, and I make my home beneath the spire of rock which eclipses the cloudy sky."

  "I see."

  "Ah, so Your Highness has heard of me and my lands?" The figure replied, voice raised.

  "Of course," she replied.

  She had not. She really didn't get out much these days.

  "Then, Your Highness must know that, many years ago, we had pledged tribute to you and your kind, swearing to cloak the earth in the black darkness of your power?"

  "My kind?"

  "Indeed" said Garmireon, taking another swig of tea. "Long have my people and I been loyal to the demon lords of old."

  Libellia stared at the great king, keeping steady eye contact as she moved to her tray to pour her own glass of tea.

  "I am, no doubt, grateful," she said, "but for what purpose do you seek my council?" Her brows lowered. The room seemed to get smaller and smaller.

  Garmireon sat up slightly, as if working up courage to make a request.

  "Dear Queen," he began, "it is not for council that I have made this journey over hill and dale."

  His voice lowered, almost to a growl.

  "It is to request your aid."

  Libellia raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Aid?"

  "Humbly, yes," the warrior king replied. "It has indeed long been said that the great demons would grant their power to those who would summon the courage to ask for it. That is why I have come to you today."

  Libellia sipped her tea. Her gaze remained fixed as she swallowed. "Oh?"

  Garmireon, standing slowly, made his pitch. He stretched a hand outwards, as if beckoning.

  "I beseech thee, Queen Libellia, to consider joining forces with my great company. Our enemies have been growing on the eastern front. Together, it is doubtless that we could, nay, WILL, conquer them, as well as every realm upon which the sun shines."

  Libellia closed her eyes, slowly rising to her feet.

  "Me? Join forces with you?"

  "Yes, my Queen. You can see my forces, my men standing at the ready. Our kingdom is vast and our wealth is plenty. It would make a fine capital city -" he said, flattering her - "for all men to come and pay tribute to you."

  Libellia's green eyes began to glow, an eldritch power seeming to fill the space from beneath the ground.

  "You wish to know my reply?" The demon queen responded, voice now matching the intensity of her guest.

  The dark king waited in silence. A moment passed that felt like hours.

  "...No thanks!"

  Libellia flashed a grin, crossing her arms. The room seemed to open up and breathe again in an instant, the suffocating intensity flowing out and away through the windows.

  "I really have too much to do around here, anyway. For starters, I am waist deep in so many knitting projects, I really just don't have the time!"

  The evil king remained motionless, clearly overtaken with surprise.

  "Besides," she giggled, retrieving his empty cup from the table to put it in the sink, "I've never really been much of a 'mountains girl.' I love trees and flowers too much to live in the rocks!"

  "But-"

  "I'm terribly sorry to tell you this so plainly," she said, a practiced innocence in her tone, "But I'm afraid I'm no longer, well, involved with you mortals much anymore."

  "...No longer involved?"

  "Correct. I'm quite content living here, by myself!"

  The dark king shuddered slightly, as if overcome by disbelief.

  "I... see. You have changed considerably."

  "I have." Libellia said politely. "All the same, though, I appreciate you stopping by for a visit!" She pushed her chair forward, signifying that the discussion was at an end.

  "Queen Libellia," the man continued, "I must urge you to reconsider. We are in desperate need of support, and our loyalty to you has never wavered. My people and I are in desperate need... would you so quickly deny us relief?"

  Libellia put a hand to her chin, as if thinking. "I am sorry," she continued after a moment, "but you really do have the wrong lady. I'm afraid you'll have to ask one of the other great demons or demonesses - I'm simply not available."

  The imposing figure's helmet dropped slightly. The answer was final. He tightly gripped his staff, causing it to shudder slightly in his grasp.

  "And," Garmireon rasped, "...if I were to take you with me... by force?"

  Libellia stopped in her tracks, dropping the damp towel she had been using to wipe the table. It slapped against the tile floor with a loud "smack."

  Her eyes turned upwards to meet Garmireon. Their emerald sheen almost pierced through the air like a laser, her gaze boring a hole right through him.

  "...I beg your pardon?"

  At once, the room began to heat - a dry, suffocating heat, like that of an old wood stove radiating in a dark room. The cracks between the tile floors began to glow white hot, and the very ceiling and walls felt as if they might close in.

  The large man rose to his feet as the demoness approached. Her horns began to glow, the tips orange like the embers of a wildfire. Her physical size had not changed, and yet she seemed to dominate the space. Garmireon, despite his pomp and grandeur, stepped backwards.

  Libellia raised an accusing finger. Her voice deepened, hissing like that of a snake.

  "Do not forget who you are speaking to, mortal."

  No more words were spoken. No more were necessary. As quickly as he had arrived, the black figure and his company of soldiers had vanished.

  Libellia leaned against her windowsill, one hand holding up her head as she watched, making sure each and every last one had departed. She exhaled loudly.

  "Just like I thought. Today really is one of those days."

  This was, as you've gathered by now, not the first time Libellia Vorgath had entertained "guests" at her small home, seeking her alliance. Sometimes, the visitors came pleading for assistance in battle, other times to win her heart's affection. They came bearing gifts, flattery always on the tips of their tongues.

  Perhaps that might have worked on her, once, long ago when she found pleasure in watching men get down on their hands and knees, begging for her. But that time was no longer.

  Now, she found it pathetic. And annoying.

  As she straightened her doormat, she inadvertently backed up, bumping over her coat rack. It fell to the floor in a crash, splitting the wood down the middle.

  She spun around sharply, picking it up off the floor. She gasped. It really had split cleanly, into two nearly identical halves down the symmetrical grain of the hickory.

  "A bad omen." She thought. "What could possibly be next?"

  _________

  2

  The Hen and Rooster was a small book shop located on the street corner of the main drag in the village of Tiryl, just past the bakers' union.

  It was a prime location for such a store, as the toothsome smell of baking bread carried in the air, making it a wonderful place to sit and read (if one was not desperately hungry). The little shop had rows and rows of antique oak bookcases, filled in alphabetical order with every sort of text one could imagine: Historical works, prose and poetry, records, even how-to type reference books. Worn leather armchairs sat in strategic, hidden crevices, making for quiet, intimate reading spaces.

  A thin, scholarly looking woman sat in one such crevice, turning slowly through a particularly engrossing piece of romantic fiction. Her eyes had just scanned a page where the hero had tried, yet failed, to confess his true feelings for the damsel he loved. Her cheeks reddened as she immersed herself in the emotional scene. Her fingers trembled, fidgeting with the corner of the page.

  *clUNK*

  The loud crash of something falling ripped the young woman out of the fantasy world in which she had been lost. One row over, a small voice groaned.

  *grumble*

  The thin girl snorted in annoyance and closed her story. She stood, setting the book on her seat, and peered through the spines of the various tomes on the shelf beside her to see if she could sneak a peek of what had caused the disturbance.

  Through the crack, she saw the flutter of something dark. Ominous. The form hurriedly dashed out of the range of her limited view. Left on the floor was a large reference book, lying open as if it had fallen haphazardly.

  The girl inhaled sharply, unsure of what she had witnessed. The aged wooden floor creaked; footsteps could be heard as the unknown creature made its way down the row.

  It was coming closer to her.

  Her heart began to race. Her stomach began to churn. She became acutely aware, in that moment, of how secluded and quiet of a place this old bookstore was. The warm smell of baked bread gave way to a thick, musty odor of aged wood and paper. The woman swallowed, shuddering as she picked up the book from her chair, gripping it tightly with both hands.

  "Creak... creak..." The floorboards were practically screaming. A clink could be heard, as if not a shoe, but a large claw, had impacted the hardwood. It would only be moments, seconds, before the beast would turn the corner. The girl imagined it: Thick, terrible dark hair cloaked its body and back. Sharp, white teeth cutting through the dark. A werewolf, maybe. Or even something worse.

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  She raised her book above her head in self-defense, slowly making her way towards the staircase to escape. Her breathing was unsteady yet silent as she tiptoed to the exit.

  In the corner of her eye - movement. The beast had found her.

  She yelped, swinging her makeshift weapon -

  "YEEAAA!!!"

  *bONk*

  "UAGGH!!"

  The beast fell to the floor, defeated. The woman breathed heavily. Adjusting her glasses, she stared down at its hulking body, lying sprawled out before her.

  Except, of course, it wasn't a beast at all. It was a boy.

  He had light, disheveled blonde hair and dark brown eyes, like that of fine espresso. His thin form was dressed in plain, tattered clothes. Around his waist was a peculiar leather belt equipped with pouches of various shapes and sizes. Around his neck, a dark black cape was fixed, held in place by a gaudy gold chain. He wore pointed-toe shoes, and sported round glasses that were far too large for his thin, childlike face.

  "Owww... what was that for, lady?!"

  Suddenly realizing her mistake, the woman rushed to help the boy up to his feet, face red with embarrassment.

  "Oh! I am so terribly sorry... I was reading over there and heard something fall... I suppose I assumed the worst!"

  The boy rose to his feet, nursing his headache by putting pressure on his temples. He straightened his crooked classes, huffing slightly.

  "It's... fine. Accidents happen. I'm sorry I frightened you by dropping that book."

  The woman smiled.

  "Don't apologize. Really, I don't know what came over me! I had pictured you as some fearsome animal or beast that had made its way in here to hurt me... but I'm glad I was mistaken! Just a cute little guy in a cape!"

  The woman walked away, awkwardly trying to forget the whole thing had happened.

  The boy stood, motionless, her words ringing in his mind.

  "Cute little guy... cute little guy... little guy... cute..."

  Edwin Draconoff did not think he was cute. He had chosen his attire for the specific purpose of conveying respect, ability, and authority.

  It was a well known fact - he thought, muttering to himself - that grand mages of great power and prestige wore leather belts with numerous pouches. Inside each one, a strange, rare, and powerful artifact of arcane origin was stored, at the hip and at the ready.

  The toes of his shoes came to a sharp point for a reason - they were modelled after the originals worn by the famous dark lord Ezerion, the Everlasting White Terror. He had stitched the uppers himself, and considered them to be fairly accurate reproductions.

  And the cape? Why, every dark wizard, warlock, and necromancer who had ever made the dusty scrolls of the history books had worn a black cape. It was essentially THE signature article of dark lord fashion. It conveyed one's position as obviously as writing "Powerful dark lord! Please bow down" on one's shirt.

  Edwin adjusted his glasses. Despite his momentary lack of confidence, he still strode out of the bookstore with his usual elegant gait, cape fluttering behind him against the gravel sidewalk. Back straight, arms down. He could feel the dull pain of the forming knot on his forehead, but it didn't matter. Minor setbacks like this meant nothing to him - simply small obstacles to be overcome.

  Had you been there to see him, strolling down the city streets in his peculiar garb, you'd have thought he was the kind of boy that people described as quirky, possibly disturbed. The kind that people point at and laugh about from the other side of the room. The kind that you hoped wouldn't approach or make direct eye contact with you.

  ...Then, you would have looked closer and noticed... that you were completely correct.

  It should be rather obvious by now that Edwin was about as close to being a dark lord as a bird is to being a fish. Edwin's knowledge of the dark arts came entirely from books. You name it, he had read it: Old, historical reference texts, embellished fictional novels... anything and everything he could get his hands on.

  Yes, Edwin had exceptional knowledge of everything evil-related. He could name each of the 20 Deadly Emperors in chronological order, recall the day-by-day battle strategy of both parties during the Dwarven War era, and tell you each and every type of spell, poison, enchantment, or hex that had ever been cast, cursed, or developed.

  What made Edwin such a particularly poor example of a Dark Lord wasn't his lack of knowledge at all. It was his lack of ability. At anything, really.

  His strength was poor, there was no doubt about that. His frame was as thin and lanky as they come, and he never devoted any time to physical training.

  But, his magic? Worse.

  Spell-wise, he could accomplish just about the same as an incompetent slight-of-hand magician.

  If Edwin Draconoff possessed one incredible trait, it was his unwavering authenticity. Despite having just been slain by a damsel with a volume of steamy romantic fiction, he puffed out his chest and carried on all the same, as if nothing had happened. He smirked as he walked, the steel tips of his shoes clinking against the rocky path. Before long, he arrived at the Bard's Barrel Inn, his (current) place of employment.

  Edwin worked at the Bard's Barrel as a mess boy, essentially a dishwasher. He had taken the job originally to help him save up to study spellcasting at a university, but he found out very quickly that, on a mess boy's wages, he'd probably die of old age before having enough coin.

  Perhaps, he thought, with enough dedication to his books, he could teach himself the dark arts - no need for tuition or scholarships.

  Edwin hung up his favorite cape, replacing it with a stained apron that he tied around his skinny waist. He donned his usual work hat and sauntered to the kitchen, ready for work.

  Already, stacks of smelly clay bowls and mugs were waiting for him, piled high next to the large metal washing tubs.

  Edwin groaned. "How many Dark Lords started out scrubbing dishes?" He wondered.

  Hours passed like minutes as he carried pails of water with him to the local brook, filling the tubs. He only tripped once or twice, which was a much better day for him than usual. After soap was introduced, he began dipping and scrubbing the dinnerware, setting it for him to dry once it was sufficiently clean.

  As he settled into the monotony of his task, his mind and imagination began to turn, whisking his thoughts far, far away from the dimly lit kitchen, with its strange smells and grimy flatware.

  In his mind, each plate, each spoon was a weapon or shield, caked in dirt or blood from a historic conquest. He was helping his fellow men clean off their equipment - showing them that he was not above them, but with them.

  True leadership, Edwin thought, as if he was being interviewed by a panel on the subject, is being willing to do the dirty work. To never put any task as "beneath" you. That humility, that passion, would inspire an army and a nation.

  Edwin hoped, as he used an old rag to wash away the suds off an old pewter tankard, that he would be able to model this, someday. After all, being a Dark Lord doesn't mean you have to be cruel.

  It was just then, as Edwin began to think up names for his imagined army, that the growing sounds of speaking and commotion began to grow and swell from outdoors. Something was clearly going on outside, and causing a ruckus.

  Edwin dried off his hands and forearms, running to the window to see what was the matter.

  Outside, he could see people walking hastily down the sidewalks, tugging their kids and loved ones by the arm. It looked as if a large crowd had just disbursed, and were making their way hastily from where they had just been. Their faces looked shocked, disturbed, almost like they had seen a monster.

  Throwing on his cape, Edwin stepped outside and turned to see what everyone else was running away from.

  It was a woman in a red dress, carrying a bag of freshly baked bread from the bakers union. She wore a white ribbon in her hair. Her purple hood had come loose and fallen to the ground. Her cheeks were lightly freckled. Her green eyes shone in the light of mid-day.

  She had trim, manicured nails with red polish. She had a thin, gold bracelet on her left wrist. She had leather flats which were neatly cleaned despite the dustiness of the ground beneath. She radiated beauty and warmth, despite her embarrassed expression.

  And, of course, she also had horns.

  Horns. Edwin couldn't believe his eyes.

  It was a demoness. Real, in the flesh.

  But which demoness was she?

  Edwin began walking towards her. People yelled for him as he walked. "Stop, boy! There's a monster that's come into town! You have to run!"

  He paid no attention to the panicked voices. His mind was already working overtime.

  "Hmm," he puzzled. "She looks to be about 160cm tall or so... Blonde, but not too blonde... green eyes (that's unusual)..."

  Libellia had intended to quietly make her way into town to buy a loaf of crusty bread to enjoy with her potato soup, and hadn't planned on having a wardrobe malfunction. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but it was awfully embarrassing, all the same. The shops and streets were as bare as bones.

  That is, save one strangely dressed boy, walking towards her with a hand on his chin, as if he couldn't quite make her out.

  "Her figure would definitely match up with the written accounts... at least, I think..." Edwin continued as he approached Libellia, staring at her as if she were a statue at a museum.

  For a moment, Libellia stood up straight. Perhaps the boy was confused - he looked too young to recognize who she was, and yet, it seemed as if he was trying to remember her name.

  She wasn't being approached or threatened.

  She was being... examined?

  "Excuse me, um... can I help you-?”

  "Miss," Edwin interrupted, pushing his glasses forward a little and flashing an innocently curious expression, "I'm sorry to bother you, but if you measured the circumference around your chest, would it be closer to 120cm? Or is it more like 110cm?”

  Silence. Birds chirped in trees up above as Libellia paused to make sure she heard the boy's question correctly.

  "Are you... trying to guess my bust size?"

  Edwin nodded earnestly. "...Yes, bust size! That’s what they call that!"

  Her arms instinctively rose and crossed her chest.

  "E-excuse me?! What on earth would you ask a personal question like that for?!"

  Her yell sent Edwin backward, cheeks going crimson.

  "O-oh, pardon me miss!! I didn't mean anything rude by that question!!" He waved his hands out in front of him, as to indicate that he meant no harm. "I was merely trying to guess which one you were!!"

  Libellia's arms lowered.

  "Which one?"

  Edwin smiled.

  "Yeah! Which famous demoness you are. And I think I may have it figured out: You're Libellia Vorgath, the infamous Dark Queen of the West, aren't you?"

  Libellia's eyes widened. Her head nodded to the affirmative.

  "Well I... yes?"

  "Oh YEAH!"

  Edwin pumped his fist, looking particularly undignified as he shamelessly celebrated in the middle of the empty street.

  "I knew it! Dirty blonde hair, your height and complexion, not to mention your famous green eyes! You're the succubus that was responsible for taking down the elven armies of Faeloryn at the end of the 3rd Age! I can't believe you're here, in Tiryl!!"

  Edwin reached out, grabbing her hand and giving her a handshake so excited and forceful, that the rest of her body seemed to bounce up and down along with it.

  Suddenly, Edwin let go and backed up a step.

  "Oh... uhm... pardon me... Where are my manners..."

  He scooped the folds of his tattered black cape with one hand, pointing his foot outward awkwardly. His gold chain rattled as he lowered into a bow.

  "My name..." he announced, "is Edwin Draconoff, and it is a true pleasure to meet you, Lady Libellia!"

  _________

  3

  Edwin lifted the light, ornately painted china teacup to his nose, taking in the herbal aroma of the liquid inside. The steam from within warmed his face. He took a small sip - certainly a unique, woodsy flavor. It was very likely, he thought, made entirely from herbs collected from the surrounding forest.

  Across from him, the domestic demoness sat, pouring a cup for herself. She didn't bother covering her horns or hiding her wings- Edwin was more than aware of what she was.

  Libellia was puzzled about the boy sitting at her table, sipping his tea. This was certainly not a tactic she had seen before. “Usually, they came with riches, offerings, and promises,” she thought. Even the clothes they wore were intended to impress her, on some level.

  But this boy? He looked like a bad joke.

  Was this some kind of reverse psychology, or something?

  Edwin adjusted his round, black glasses, clearing them of fog that had clouded the lenses from the steam.

  "Well, Lady Libellia... um... I guess I don't even know where to begin! I mean, you're one of the most famous succubi in history!"

  He leaned forward, eyes bright with excitement. His voice was earnest, free from any hesitation or fear.

  "I can't believe you're real! Well, I mean, of course you're real... but you're here! Sitting right here with me!"

  Libellia sipped her tea gently, laughing lightly at his enthusiasm.

  "Well, yes. I'm very much real."

  "It's incredible!" He continued. "It's so WICKED! Nobody will ever believe me that I got to meet THE Libellia Vorgath. I mean, you are totally so much cooler than how I imagined you."

  "Oh? And how exactly did you imagine me?"

  Edwin scratched his messy, blonde hair, as if trying to think up the right words. "I don't know... I guess... more gothic?"

  Libellia coughed, her tea having gone down the wrong tube upon hearing that remark. "...Gothic?!"

  "Well, yeah! Like… black makeup and leather and chains, stuff like that! I mean, that's typically how you see demonesses depicted in drawings, right?"

  Edwin raised his cup, motioning to her.

  "But you? You're totally beautiful and kind! You even invited me to have tea! What other kind of succubus even does that?! Sooo wicked!!" (Edwin liked to use the word "wicked," if you hadn't caught on by now).

  Libellia blushed slightly at his compliment. "Well, thank you for your kind words... even if my appearance is disappointing to you." She tugged lightly at the waist of her dress.

  "Oh no," the boy clarified, "I’m not disappointed at all! I always thought there was something cliché about that whole aesthetic, anyway... I mean, it would make it harder to seduce legendary heroes if they can pick you out by your clothes, wouldn’t it?"

  “Well, really it depends on personal preference more than anything…” Libellia mused, before realizing she was being more open and honest than she had intended. “...Never mind.” Her tone became more pointed as she grew increasingly skeptical.

  Edwin continued. "Wait: get this." He stood, pausing for dramatic effect, before as he spoke in a (obviously practiced) serious and dramatic tone of voice, as if reciting from a play.

  "...I will not bend. I will not break. I will not even move from this spot until each and every one of you pays me the tribute I deserve... or else doom shall come for you, swiftly..."

  Edwin closed his eyes, proud of himself. After a moment, he peered expectantly at Libellia, opening one eye. She merely sat, blinking.

  "Well? Doesn't that sound familiar to you? Those were the famous words you spoke to Elendor and his Army of Light when they came to storm your stronghold!!"

  He leaned in. "How did I sound? Was that close to how you really said it?!"

  Libellia touched her hand to her cheek. "I suppose those words do sound familiar, but... why would you memorize something like that?"

  Edwin grinned back at her. "Of course I memorized it! It's famous! I have entire books devoted to you and your exploits from long ago - you're literally legendary!"

  Edwin pulled a few field guides out from a leather crossbody bag he had set by his chair on the floor. Libellia looked: Inside were numerous detailed character sheets, each one of a different famous monster, knight, warlock or wizard. He licked his finger, flipping through them one by one until he pulled one from the middle of the pile, setting it on the table between them.

  Libellia gasped. On the sheet was a simplistic drawing of her, wings outstretched, horns ablaze, dressed in her signature armored bodice and thin, fishnet stockings from so long ago. For her, it was like being confronted with an embarrassing candid photo from college. Along the side of the image were small square bars with stats listed: Strength, Dexterity, Intelligence, Charisma. Under each was an asterisk that led to a disclaimer: *projected based on historical data.

  “See? For all the famous figures and creatures I’ve read about, I’ve compiled these handy data sheets! Pretty cool, don’cha think?”

  Libellia was stunned into silence. Edwin pointed to the graphs on the page.

  “These fields here are estimations of your character traits and abilities. Look here! It shows your skills, like fire magic!”

  Edwin pointed to a list in the bottom corner of described magical powers and spells. “ARCANE FIRE. SOUL SHIELD. REALITY WARP.” These, and several others, were listed.

  “This is… very comprehensive,” the Dark Queen finally said, unsure if this was impressive or a little strange. “The sheet seems incomplete. Are you still working on it?”

  Edwin shrugged. “Well, there’s only so much I can learn from historical documents alone. Most of the stories are dramatized or exaggerated, anyway. I’ve had to do my best to filter out only the most probable information…” He straightened his glasses again. “However - since you’re here, you’ll have to let me know what needs to be added or corrected! You’re a primary source, after all!

  Libellia found herself laughing again. “Primary source, hmm? It’s not polite to refer to a lady like she’s a relic, you know.”

  Edwin’s face went scarlet. “Oh! Pardon me… I’m getting so carried away… I just, I’ve always dreamed of meeting you! Which, that reminds me... you'll have to set the record straight!"

  Libellia looked down, confused. "Record? On what?"

  "Your mysterious disappearance!" Edwin replied, as if the answer were obvious. "The texts say that one day you just... vanished. Some even suggest you might have been slain in some gruesome battle. What happened? How did you end up in the outskirts of Tiryl?"

  Libellia set her cup and saucer on the table.

  "I never disappeared. I've simply been... preoccupied."

  "Really?"

  "Yes. You could say my exploits as the 'dark queen' have been... put on an indefinite hiatus."

  "Very interesting..." Edwin said, producing a small pencil and scratch pad from within his ridiculously elaborate tool belt. "What caused you to take a break from it, if you don't mind me asking? Just so I can amend the official chronology."

  Libellia's cheeks turned a slight shade of red, unsure of how to respond. For a moment, she thought about giving a silly, dramatic sort of excuse. Instead, she set her hands in her lap, turning to face Edwin fully. Her deep green eyes met his, and her face was serious.

  "Listen. I'm not sure if you've heard, but if not, I might as well get this out of the way up front: I'm not interested. I'm not joining you or your party for a quest, I'm not granting you any unholy power, and I'm certainly not going to give you any special dreams tonight. I'm no longer practicing any demon business. I've moved on. I like my life here in this cottage, and I have no plans to leave."

  With that, Libellia stood up from the table, in a similar fashion to how she had done so with the fearsome dark king earlier that day.

  "Mmm. Okay." Edwin said, scratching away in his notebook. "So was it the drama and spotlight that made you quit? The fatigue of constant warfare? Or was consuming the souls of heroes just no longer doing it for you?"

  "Well I... My reasons are personal, but I decided to swear a binding oath to change my ways and focus on living a quiet, peaceful life."

  The sound of pencil dragging across paper filled the silent room.

  "Sure - that's fine! I can see where it would be pretty tiring being a succubus."

  "So, like I said," Libellia reiterated, "I appreciate you visiting me for tea and some chit chat, but I am simply no longer interested in any adventures. I'm flattered you know of my past, but-"

  Libellia paused, finally taking in Edwin's words from before.

  "What did you just say?"

  Edwin looked up at her, eyes made even wider by his glasses. "Huh? Oh, I said that makes sense to me. I understand. Doing all of that for centuries basically on your own - that would get tiring! I understand why you just wanted some rest in a peaceful, cozy place like this."

  Libellia set down her teacup off-center on its saucer, making a rattling sound.

  "...You're not asking me to come join you for a quest?"

  Edwin flashed a goofy, shocked expression at the demoness.

  "You?! Join me?! Ha!! That's a good one, Lady Libellia!!" Edwin kicked his feet in amusement. "No, I did not come here to ask you on some sort of quest." Looking at his cape and belt for a moment, he added: "Though, I am flattered you recognized me as looking like an adventurer..."

  The beautiful succubus stared ahead, stunned.

  "So, you came to tea with me..?"

  Edwin looked back up, innocently.

  "Because I just wanted to meet you! Plus, this tea is really wicked!!" Edwin grabbed his cup again, gulping another large mouthful.

  “Honestly - you’re an inspiration to me,” Edwin continued. “All my life, I’ve wanted to be like the great dark lords you read about in books and hear tales told about around the fire. I’ve always wanted to learn powerful spells and live in a huge castle up on a fiery hill! But… nobody ever takes me seriously. I barely know any magic at all, and the spells I do know are practically worthless. I can’t even muster a water spell to fill the tub for my job at the inn.”

  Edwin took his last drink of tea, setting down his cup and saucer. He stood, suddenly, shouldering his bag.

  “Which, reminds me - I need to get back to it. If I don’t get back before the barkeeper returns, I won’t have that job, either! Talk about depressing!”

  He looked over his shoulder, as he made a move for the door.

  “Seriously - you have no idea what it’s meant to me that you asked me here to tea with you today, Lady Libellia.” Edwin smiled once again from ear to ear. “Perhaps one day, down the road, you’ll hear my name in the history books as well, and look back on this day with pride.”

  And with that, the blonde-haired boy left the cottage, shutting the door softly behind him.

  Had you been there to see Libellia, still holding her teapot in mid-pour, you would have thought she had just seen a ghost. This boy had come, not to entreat or flatter her, but simply to meet her. He hadn’t boasted about power - he had been bragging about her. He hadn’t asked for her allegiance - he’d asked for a lump of sugar for his tea.

  Had you been there to see her, you’d have thought Libellia looked conflicted, as if there was more that she needed to say.

  …Then you would have looked, and seen that she was no longer frozen, but was running for her front door.

  “Edwin??” Libellia called out to the boy, already far down the winding cobblestone path.

  “Huh?” He replied, turning around.

  “You wish to be a dark lord someday, is that right?”

  Edwin turned around fully, nodding.

  Libellia ran, catching up to him. She looked at the boy with a serious expression. In her green eyes, a fiery glow seemed to shine from within - a glow that had not been there in a long, long time.

  “Very well. If that is your true wish… then consider me your ally and mentor… Lord Edwin.”