Nyxara

In the depths of fear, Nyxara waits—the deathless Succubus. Her ghostly hair drifts like smoke, horns sharp as crowns. Dressed in blackened armor streaked with crimson, she smiles—a promise of ruin. --- The air turns brittle, shadows creeping closer. A sickly-sweet scent lingers, thick and cloying. Then, from the darkness—she exhales.