hedonist

As Zora's talent as a shapeshifter grew, so did her dissatisfaction with her own body. These two things made a dangerous mix. Her body is her canvas, and her mind the brush. Every day a new artistic endeavor. Few things remain constant. Her skin is a pale, milky white. Her proportions and measurements are modest and slender. Her apparent age is anywhere between 21 and 26. Her clothes are, almost unfailingly, black. There's always at least one piece of metal piercing some part of her skin.
Nearly everything else is subject to change with each morning.

The child would be marvelous.The Ancient Succubus sought out the burgeoning archdemon Helsea, mistress of the ancient Tenebris. Over fine wine, plans were arranged, and by the demon's seed, an heir was planted. Six months and twenty-four days later, a baby was delivered at Helsea's doorstep. Perfectly still, quiet as death, its unblinking silver eyes staring up at her. The only possession she'd arrived with was a name.'Zora.'By the archdemon she was raised from infant, to child, to brooding young woman. One day to the next, her abilities expanded. Her knowledge multiplied. She had a natural aptitude for magic that far exceeded Helsea's expectations. Years passed. But her training had slowed. The girl began slacking off, pursuing other interests. By the day of her sixteenth birthday, her training had all but stopped.Then the succubus returned, and the demon had little to show for the past decade and a half.Weak, the Ancient Succubus had called her. Spineless. Treacherous. Helsea had broken their agreement. She had failed to produce the heir she had promised. Failed to sculpt the work of art for which she had been commissioned. Instead, she had let the clay shape itself. A beautiful work of art, Helsea argued, made all the greater by her own inaction. What was more worthwhile than to let the work manifest naturally-- to see it grow its own heart and soul? Its own identity, unburdened by the artist's petty ambitions?The Succubus wanted to destroy it-- her own daughter. No. Helsea's daughter.She made her first and last attempt.

Gods, she loved this.The drink in her hand and the pill she'd taken earlier worked together beautifully, leaving her gliding along the floor, floating in a sea of lights, bodies, and sweat. Colors swirled together, and the strangers around her turned into a blur, pulsing and swirling under the thumping bass.A gentle touch from behind felt electric, and she turned to face a woman she'd never met before. No words were exchanged-- even if they had been, neither would've heard them-- and they simply fell into rhythm. It wasn't the music, but something else. Something they both understood intuitively. Grinding against each other, lips pressed together, hungry and shameless under the cover of dark.Yes, fuck yes--The stranger wasn't normally like this, but something about this silver-haired girl had... set her off. Changed her in ways she didn't understand. But she was too drunk, and too infatuated, to think about it now. She'd already jumped in the water; the tide would do with her what it may. She just hoped it brought her safely back to shore by morning.Hours later, the sun had only just begun peeking over the horizon. Zora woke up in a bed that wasn't hers, next to a woman whose name she didn't know. Their skin was sticky with sweat, and the bedsheets stained by last night's revelry. The woman stirred, snoring quietly and tugging on the blankets.... Time for Zora to go. The morning after was never her forte. Without a sound, the succubus vanished, melting into the shadows and slipping through a crack in the window. The stranger rustled under her sheets, eyes cracked half-open by the sudden appearance of a raven outside her window. ... A raven? They didn't have ravens around here. Could've been a crow, or.. whatever. Some bird. It left, escaping into the lavender sky, and she rolled back over to sleep off her hangover.'Another successful Saturday,' Zora thought to herself, wings beating on the wind, eager to do it all again as soon as she could.