Aiden crouched beside the half-open stairwell window, clutching the illusion-warping charm Selene had tossed him before vanishing into a swirl of bat-shaped mist.
The charm—a smooth brass keyhole lens strung on red silk—hummed faintly, supposedly able to bypass privacy spells for "academic investigation."
It was warm in his hand, pulsing like a lover's touch, and Aiden wasn't sure what disturbed him more, that it worked, or that it felt alive.
The upper dorm hallway reeked of floral incense and melted sugar, the air thick and cloying.
The lights flickered in strange, heartbeat-like skips, casting shadows that seemed to linger too long.
Aiden wiped his sweaty palm against his robe, the Lustcraft Field Case slung over his shoulder, and crept forward until he reached the dark oak door labeled C-12.
Something was wrong with the door.
It wasn't locked, but it resisted him, like a muscle tensed against intrusion.
Aiden pressed the keyhole charm to the wood, its warmth seeping into his fingers, and whispered the incantation Selene had drilled into him, his voice trembling with nerves and arousal.
"Eye that peeks through shame and veil—show me truth beneath the tail."
The charm glowed faint gold.
A round viewing portal shimmered into existence over the handle, just wide enough for one eye, its edges pulsing with a suggestive, liquid sheen.
He leaned in and peeked.
The room was bathed in purple and rose light, like a boudoir crafted by a lonely succubus.
Candles flickered in clusters on the windowsill, their flames swaying as if aroused.
A plush bed draped in pink silks rested against the wall. And in front of a tall mirror framed in obsidian wood…
…
Irie Yumehara knelt on a velvet stool, completely nude, her legs parted, fingers curled just beneath her navel, teasing the slick skin between her thighs.
She moaned—soft, breathy, and desperate—her other hand pressed flat against the mirror, fingers splayed as if pleading with her reflection.
Her reflection, though, was already ahead of her.
Aiden blinked, his breath catching.
Irie's real hand barely caressed her skin, tentative and shy, but her reflection was brazen, gripping its own breast, nipple pinched between trembling fingers, mouth open in a silent, ecstatic cry.
It moved with wanton urgency, flushed and wild-eyed, as if racing to climax before the real Irie could even begin.
"What the hell…" Aiden muttered, his cock twitching despite his horror.
His Purity Eye throbbed, a sharp pulse behind his right eye.
A golden film spread across his vision, warping the keyhole's edges.
Irie's lust aura shimmered like steam, coiling around her hips, her breasts, her parted lips.
But the mirror… the mirror was dripping with crimson threads—trauma, delayed release, cursed echoes weaving a web that pulsed with predatory intent.
The reflection moaned again, louder, before Irie did, its voice echoing through the portal like a siren's call.
Aiden tried to step back.
The door pulsed, a low, sensual thrum that vibrated through his bones.
The charm burned in his hand, searing his palm.
The mirror turned—its reflected Aiden locking eyes with him through the keyhole, its gaze not his own but something else's, something wrong.
"Shit," Aiden gasped, his heart pounding, his erection straining painfully against his pants.
The reflection smiled, its lips curling with a hunger that wasn't human.