Whispers Of My Incubus Guardian
Not literally—but the presence that emerged had a way of commanding space, as though even nature itself gave it room to pass.
A tall figure stepped forward, barefoot and silent, gliding over the forest floor like he weighed nothing at all.
The sunlight caught on his skin, impossibly smooth and pale, like carved marble dusted with gold. His eyes were molten, glinting like honey with a heat that didn’t warm, only warned.
An Incubus.
“Relax,” the Incubus said, his voice rich and smooth, like warm smoke curling through a closed room. “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d already be dreaming. But even if I want to, I can’t physically, as my body is not entirely here.”
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