Minjeong has a problem.

 

You see, Minjeong is a writer. 

 

Not just any writer- but a top-selling author of a mythical fantasy detective series that’s currently captivating the hearts of the entire world, earning her (and very rightfully so) near endless accolades, critical acclaim and not to mention, a seven-story long book deal. 

 

None of it has come easy- Minjeong has essentially made herself a leading expert on all things magic as a result of her endless research of varying quality, ranging from sticking her nose into old religious texts all the way to fifteen hyperlinks into some obscure Wikipedia page. She’s watched countless documentaries and video essays, terrible horror movies, you name it and Minjeong has probably already familiarised herself with it, all in an effort to create a story that is damn as close to perfect as she can get it. 

 

So why the is she experiencing the worst goddamn writer's block to mankind? At this point, she feels like she will never know. It's completely undeserved after all the hard work she's done up until this point.

 

Minjeong quite literally slams her forehead down on the keys in frustration. This is the penultimate book, is going down and yet she can’t seem to write anything. She has thousands of fans waiting for her next move, snooty critics waiting for her to make a mistake, and she has her stupid book deal deadline. By god, if she misses this the publishing house is going to have her head.

 

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

 

Minjeong spams the ‘a’ key in frustration until she’s pounding her fist against her device. 

 

“ me.”

 

You can blame it on the three coffees she’s had so far, or maybe the five consecutive all-nighters she’s pulled, but Minjeong isn’t exactly feeling what one would call sane at the moment. One would dare call her gently manic.

 

So naturally, she would only do the best thing for herself. Would that be;

A. Calling it for a day and retiring to the comfort of her own bed, allowing dreamland to take away her stresses as fluffy sheep lull her into safety and security.

Or.

 

B. Make a pentagram out of ketchup, old coffee grounds and five crusty musty dusty candles that her aunts were sure would make the perfect housewarming gift.

 

So anyways, Minjeong finishes lighting the candles puts her hands together, says Zimzalabim and just like that there's a puff of smoke and the slight smell of burning ketchup lingering in the air. 

 

Minjeong gives a dead-eyed stare as she watches a creature claw up and out of the floorboards. Pointed, almost clawlike nails scratch and screech against wood. Light grey arms flex as the monster pulls itself into the room, revealing perfectly sculpted muscles not at all obscured by the black skin-tight and skimpy outfit clutching to her body, a head of full and voluminous obsidian hair, blood-red lips, and piercing amber for eyes that can be seen even in darkness.

 

Karina has been summoned a few times, usually by stupid teenagers who got too comfortable with an Ouija board, or some devote Satanists who beg for wishes without knowing how important their souls are. Karina recons this clearly distressed person has to be the latter. 

 

Karina is fully expecting this to go a certain way. First, the poor bugger is going to be scared less because ‘omg I had no idea demons were real!!’ and ‘holy that actually worked!!!’ so she’s going to have to sit through a whole existential crisis. Then, against their initial fears, they’re going to trust her because humans are ing stupid and can’t see a red flag if it literally came out of a flaming pentagram so long as they have Pretty Privilege. 

 

And by ing god does Karina have Pretty Privilege.

 

She knows what she looks like (that being, ing gorgeous) and that she’s damn near irresistible. Though her appearance is otherworldly (because she is) it's humanesque and recognisable enough to be a temptation, so the only next step is for some poor, desperate soul to beg her for a wish that ultimately going to bite them back in the and leave them half the person they were. All in days work. 

 

Karina’s lips twitch into an arrogant smirk as the smoke begins to clear. She’s been practising her one-liners for a while now (ever since her ‘grand’ entrance had her stuttering over herself as she mumbled “m-make some noise” to a bunch of stoners. Not happening again). She was going for something quick and snappy to leave the poor summoner starstruck in her awing presence. 

 

“You cal-”

 

“You ing .”

 

Throughout Karina’s ten thousand-ish (who knows, time works differently there) year-long life, she has never quite felt this feeling before. The lack of control, the window of confusion. It’s a feeling she’s instilled in others and yet hasn’t known herself. Till now anyway.

 

Fear.

 

An audible clang reverberates around the room and Karina sees stars for a second before she realises that she’s been hit in the face.

 

By a ing frying pan.

 

The mighty Karina, a demon from the nightosphere. Hell personified. Left stunned by an instrument used to FRY EGGS.

 

She doesn’t know how to react and stays rooted in place, hanging open.

 

The short stack in front of her emanates a dark aura and an ‘I cannot deal with your today’ attitude. Karina has heard the saying that short people are evil because they’re closer to hell, and she’s starting to believe it.’

 

The human grumbles in a low voice. 

 

“You.” 

 

A combo this time, she feels the metal slap against her cheek before it returns with a backhanded strike as if it were a tennis racquet and her face was the neon green bouncy ball. The metal is left dented in the shape of the demon's face.

 

“ right off and stop getting in the way of my work!”

 

When Karina finally processes what just happened to her, she debates ripping the girl limb from limb, but that wouldn’t give her any answers. At this point, she just wants to know what the hell is going on. If you could personify a question mark, that would be Karina right at this moment.

 

“What the are you talking about? Do you know what- no, who I am?”

 

“Yeah, I ing know. You’re my writer's block demon and you need to piss off right ing now. I don’t have time for you.”

 

First of all, she’s not a ‘writer's block’ demon. What a stupid thing to even suggest! She’s an almighty agent of chaos here to bring anarchy and suffering to those stupid enough to wish for what they don’t deserve. To suggest that demons exist for the sole purpose of messing with something as meaningless as fictional literature is an insult to Karina’s whole existence.

 

I mean what the hell is with this goddamn audacity? For this person to be so arrogant. To suggest that they don’t have time for an immortal body as beautiful as herself- this mortal should be on her ing knees. The gall of this human!

 

“Don’t have time for me