The Summoned Demon: 1. The Circled Dawn

The apartment smelled of burnt wax and regret.

Candles lined the edges of the chalk circle she had drawn across the cracked hardwood floor, each flame flickering with an almost mocking rhythm. The windows were shut, blinds pulled down tight even though it was well past midnight. Sweat clung to her skin despite the early autumn chill, because desperation had a way of heating the body from the inside out.

Mara had never believed in any of this. Rituals, grimoires, whispered promises of power—it had all belonged in horror movies and dog-eared paperbacks in occult shops she had mocked with her friends. Until she had found herself here. Alone. Empty. Wanting and very lonely. 

Her hands shook as she held the silver knife she had borrowed—stolen—from her grandmother’s jewelry box. The old woman had always muttered about “family relics” and “protection,” words Mara had brushed off. Now the blade felt too heavy in her palm, like it knew what she was about to do. There was no