Possession: A Succubus Guide to Crazy Love

wasn't me

of a car crash. Her lungs compressed against ribs buried under layers of adipose tissue. Sh

instinct

felt only the bite of cheap polyester pajamas digging into her shoulder blades. The fabric pulled tight acros

he mattress with han

knuckle. The sensation sent a jolt of revulsion up her spine. This body was a prison

e loading

elle's hands flew to her ears, but the sound was inside her skull, not ou

g-throaty, congested, wrapped

ed her e

ebox, maybe twelve feet square, walls sweating with Brooklyn summer humidity. Empty soda cans littered the

lift hissed in protest as she heaved herself upright. Her knees popped-loud, alarming sounds

number floated in her mi

een momentum and friction. Her thighs rubbed together with a

ngth, propped against

lle l

jawline dissolved into jowls, neck accordion-folded into rings of flesh. The body that housed

pinched the soft mass beneath her chin. The flesh yi

auty that had launched ships and ended dynasties-was trapp

tion in progress. Estim

to mechanical neutrality. "Task objective: A

d it at the wall. The can struck drywall with a hollow thunk, bounce

mmediate, hum

sical reality. Inescapable. She'd survived decapitations, disme

she said. "Ev

came witho

gery of a penthouse overlooking Central Park. The weight of it drove her back into the gaming chair. The hydraul

sed her eyes

The VTuber kind-camera off, anime avatar on. Three hundred pounds of anonymous flesh behind a pink-haired digi

teen Discord servers, "Izzy the Inflatable." A c

iliation under "irrele

orth: 4.7 billion dollars. Residence: 432 Park Avenue, penthouse. Medical history: sev

on the med

very childhood humiliation, every market crash, every casual cruelty repl

her lips, dry and automatic. A

the information. "Can my vocal frequenci

t is professional-grade. Purchased via pers

er eyes and looke

e right scrolled with fresh hatred-@Izzy_the_Inflatable how dare you show your face,

r own, leaking from the body's previous tenant. Izzy

le cru

She was not Izzy. She was not this flesh. She was a consciousn

only valuable object in this entire miserable apartment. Her fingers found the

ared he

ven human, let alone superhuman. She grabbed the half-empty water bottle from her desk-l

ried

vibrated against her will, but something else answered-deeper, older, not ent

sti

bles wrapped in something else, something

een. The digital puppet's mouth moved in sync, cute

red over the "G

t screaming into the void about fat arms and bro

clicked t

ked up from zero to twelve to forty-seven in seco

ords in that voice-not human, not quite, but clo

ening, e