<i>He had been called.</i><br/><br/>By the gods how long had it been since he had felt the stirring of reality touch his benighted soul?  The incubus raised it's shadowed head to gaze upwards towards the call.  To attempt to describe it in more mundane terms would have been childish, act of the unimaginative who could not grasp the realm of the spirit.  Ethereal waves crashed across the surface of his form, indistinct and hazy as he rose up from the ground to consider whether or not the call would be answered.  It was a compelling voice, the voice of a young woman reciting the ancient prayers, and yet there was something lacking in them that negated any sense of urgency.  His uncertainty was quickly dispelled as a small thrill at the idea of once more bargaining with the flesh and souls of the beings that had been blessed by the god Jehovah.  They could never understand, not in truth, the sheer luck of the draw that had granted them mortality and immortality all in one hand...and how much they had to lose in attempting to shuffle the deck in their favor.  He would ensure that this mortal understood what the fall from grace felt like, he promised himself solemnly before bridging the gulf that separated him from the one who had summoned him.<br/><br/>He was reborn.  Whistling wind filled the room, soft and subtle, the sound barely heard above the air conditioning of the room itself.  Yet suddenly he was there, a presence where there had been none before, his shadowy physique taking space where nothing had been before.  The change in the air pressure was what had caused the stirring in the room, for even he had to obey the laws of physics (or at least the laws that humankind had blindly stumbled upon) and as he occupied the space itself the world reacted to the introduction of a body of mass that had not been there before.  His eyes glimmered as he stepped, barefoot across the floor towards her and then he paused as he realized the truth of his summoning.  How she had come across the proper rites was not something surprising to him, the ancient words had been inscribed in numerous texts found within the silly little magick shops of society.  No, the truth was that there was some small measure of power within the sleeping girl.<br/><br/>Approaching the bed was like a benediction, an altar at which he would slake his terrible hungers and he smiled down at the young sleeping beauty that he found there.  The smile on the shadowy face was indulgent, turning the symmetrical features into an intelligent and humored satan.  Austere, raised cheek bones and sultry lips, he was human enough to be passable but the features had not been the ones he had chosen.  No, they had been the ones captured from the mind of the dreaming angel that was laying there before him.  It was her that had willed him to be, her that had instilled a sense of purpose and presence to his existence, and as such he was molded by that wish for his creation.  Sculpted, exquisite, and quite vulgarly nude.  The lean frame bent over her as one hand came out to smooth her hair back, leaning down to kiss her cheek softly before he whispered.<br/><br/>"Wake, Mistress.  We have much to discuss."