The door was where Maurice remembered it, as rough and dark as the surrounding mountainside. Strange symbols flowed across its surface as he drew nearer, and it parted like a curtain as he stepped through.

Into the witch’s den.

“Welcome back,” Glakila said to the Imperial. Her smile was bright, her many eyes even brighter. They were red—and though Maurice knew Plague dragons sometimes had severe mutations, though he called her “witch”, he thought of another, more foreboding word.

Demon.

She spoke lightly, as though they were old friends. She asked about Dulcinea (“You’ve been working so hard to earn her favor, after all!”) and then, inevitably, she asked if he’d procured the agreed-upon payment.

He had. Glakila carefully examined the treasures he’d brought and gave a single satisfied nod. In return, he was presented with a piece of parchment. A sorcerous contract.

“It’s all here.” As Maurice perused each line, Glakila clarified, “Not a glamor to change your appearance, nor a spell to deceive your Dulcinea. Not one that will force her to act as your paramour while her real self rages inside.

“No, this magic will take whatever affection she has for you and intensify it into actual love. Say her name once you see her,” and half of Glakila’s scarlet eyes winked, “and she will swoon in your arms and never again be parted from you.”

It was here, everything he’d requested all those years ago. Maurice had fulfilled his part of the contract by delivering the artifacts, and now it was the witch’s turn.

He felt power flow through him as he signed the parchment. And he left immediately afterward, ready to claim his beloved’s favor at last.

~ ~ ~
Glakila was no demon, but it could be argued that she was one based on her actions alone. She was, after all, as cruel and duplicitous as any hell-fiend.

She hadn’t scammed Maurice—where was the enjoyment in that? She had meticulously noted down all his demands, had woven them into the contract...

All that remained was to see how things would play out.

With her enchanted eyes, she watched him return to his clan. She saw him approach a courtyard, where a dragoness lounged among friends and admirers.

“Dulcinea,” he called out—and the female Imperial’s face suddenly flushed with ardor. She was looking at him! She was moving towards him...Why was she moving so strangely?

She swooned—no, collapsed in his arms. Even as Maurice screamed, he felt her scales adhere to his, felt the vile magic binding her to him.

She will never again be parted from you...

Devouring him as she transformed into an Emperor.

With a titter, Glakila severed the connection. Such lovelorn fools were easy marks, and this one’s clan had had treasures that’d made it all worthwhile.

But she was wise enough not to linger once a deal had been concluded. And when the sun rose again the next morning, there was no more black door in the mountainside, nor any sign that there’d ever been one to begin with.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users