Monster Girl Imagines

Praxilla (The Shadow Demoness)

|The Ever-Changing Candle|

Long ago, in a land unlike ours, lived a witch, deep within the forbidden woods of the northern watch. A place where only the bravest and foolish traversed for her magic was unlike any other, and threatening appearance warded off any who dare oppose her.

Her name? Well, she took on many, but one that stuck was Velintia, the twisted witch who took the lives of hundreds and feasted upon the hearts of children.

Now, to place some understanding, you are her very distant relative in current times, sharing very similar magic that carried on through the blood-line and was bestowed to you, and only you. Which means, having her gift, you furthermore inherited the ever-changing candle: a candle that never burns out, and changes color with its different emotions. The candle is very much alive and must be fed as if it were some kind of pet, lucky it didn't need to be walked or, taken outside to go to the bathroom, it just burned continuously and dripped wax.

At times you swore the flames spoke to you, whispering into your ear as you slept even though it is placed on the farthest end of the cabin. The candle was, well, to simply put it, creepy -- bone-chilling, its flame produced no heat, and swallowed the light, so any sun that dared face it was to be replaced with cold darkness.

You could never live up to the reputation of Velintina, and you didn't want to. Eating children's hearts and killing people wasn't exactly your forte. Nor seemed to be modernly possible.

Nonetheless, you've researched as much as you could about this, ever-changing candle, but the searches have come up, burnt out...literally. Every single website, book, scroll, spell, has been burnt or deleted right before your eyes.

It's gotten to a point where your computer burst up into flames and sears your wrist viciously, which is precisely where we are now, in your pained rage.

The wooden flooring of your cabin creaks as your feet slam against it, tightly clutching your wrist with your left hand and storming towards the candle.

With a spell upon your tongue, you summon water to form above the candle and drop it on the flame, ineffective and utterly useless! But it is the only way to get it to wake up.

"You are by far the most time-consuming and expensive piece of wax I've ever owned!" With your angry voice, the coloration of the wax changes gradually from purple to white, silently feigning innocence, which only edges on to your furious behavior. "It's no wonder no one wanted Velintina's gift! You were the curse that came along with it!" Your injured wrist swings forward, and you knock the candle off the table it stood on.

Now, of course, you've never done such a violent act against the candle, and it was to have very significant consequences in the moments to come.

Your hands grew cold and clammy, and your head felt faint, the world around you moving in slow motion as the candle falls to the ground and breaks in half.

The dreadful feeling of your heart pausing as you watch the fire ultimately die out upon the floor, and a thin wisp of smoke warping into the air before expanding and shaping into a towering wall of mist right before your eyes.

Regret. Fear. And strangely enough, acceptance. All of these emotions were harsh, and yet as the smoke takes form with the overpowering stench of tainted fumes overwhelms your senses, you also feel relief.

Relief to perhaps be rid of this torterous life, taking care of a candle? And nurturing it? That wasn't something you ever wanted.

"It's taken you long enough, mortal."

The deep, disembodied voice rumbles from the smoke, tremoring the very foundation of the cottage and forcing you a few steps back as it slowly takes the form of a woman, standing well over eight feet tall, which was nearly the height of your ceiling.

Your neck craned to stare up at her glowing white eyes, which barely helped your growing nerves. "It...you're a person?!" Your voice cracks at the question, eyes open in marvel at her intimidating, marvelous form.

Her eyelids droop, and her shoulders slump, releasing an unearthly growl.

"No...you're not even close." she reaches her arms up and stretches, her body's color-changing into a purple smoke that strangely smelled of fruit.
"I've been stuck in that damned wax prison for too damn long! My knees fucking hurt!" She lifts her foot and right on cue, her knee cracks, and pops.

She cranes her neck side to side, letting out groans of delight with each stretch of her aching muscles? Does she even have bones? She's entirely made of smoke! What the hell is popping?!

"Uhm, so...you've been waiting for someone to break the candle?" Great conversation starter! Ten out of ten.

She seems to think so, as she glares down at you, silently wishing death upon your very being for interrupting her stretching.

"Yes, I have, and you were the only one brave enough to do it." 

She didn't give off the vibe of being upset, moreso, relieved to be free from it finally. But as with every stupid cursed object, there was a price.

You stare at her expectantly, waiting for her to elaborate on what your life was to be from now on. Imprisonment? A curse? It would be nothing new, but just another thing you'd have to fix, how wonderful...

Her head tilts, and rows of teeth reveal themselves as she smiles. Oh, God..

"Well, since you loved my presence so much, I'll just stick around for a while...and let you take care of me." With a wink and a pat upon your head, she vanishes into the dark and reappears inside of your kitchen, beginning the journey of eating your food with her heart's content.

This was by far, worse than any curse you've ever been struck by...

Your eyes meet hers as she peeks her head out at you, grinning cheerily.

"Oh! And the names Praxilla...roomie."

(Based off of a wack ass dream I had)