It was a late night, and the demon came to her bedroom as usual. She was not afraid of him anymore. In the beginning, it was frightening. She felt every touch of the demon, and there was nothing immoral in it. The demon talked to her, whispered her words that she would never dare to tell others. When the demon would leave, she would sleep good, healthy sleep until their next meeting. She never waited for him. All of his visits were unexpected. They were short, intensive and sweet.

But it wasn't like that at the beginning. There was a sense of guilt, shame, and agony that he dared to visit her.

She was helpless. The demon always was on the winning side. His weapon was the pleasure. She wanted that… And she was afraid that she wanted…. She looked forward to their meetings with the promise that she would never listen to the demon. But once he was there, she was powerless. She hated him. She hated him for being stronger. She hated him for killing her innocence. He was merciless and cruel.

As time went, she got used to him and even accepted him as part of her life. She accepted the demon as if he were her own self. And she didn't fight… She didn't fight.