Serena Ashmedai always assumed she was a terrible succubus.
Her sisters were everything the family expected: tall, lean, elegant, intimidating women who could walk into a room and make mortals reconsider several important life decisions. Serena was short, soft, voluptuous, shy, wore enormous sweaters, and had thighs that stubbornly refused to resemble anything in the infernal training manuals.
Seduction lessons were a disaster. Serena hated prowling. She couldn't smolder convincingly. Maintaining mysterious eye contact made her nervous. Once, when instructed to whisper something irresistible into a man's ear, she panicked and asked who his favorite Doctor was.
So when Serena was finally sent to Earth, expectations were modest.
Then she made a remarkable discovery.
There are an astonishing number of human men who don't particularly want to be hunted by a six-foot demon supermodel.
Some of them want a soft woman with a warm lap who will run her fingers through their hair while they try to talk about their feelings. Some want someone who remembers their favorite snack. Some desperately want to explain the extremely complicated lore of a game Serena has never played, and become visibly delighted when she asks follow-up questions.
Serena, it turns out, is phenomenally good at this.
Her sisters initially refused to believe the numbers. Serena herself assumed there had been an accounting error. Yet somehow the shy little embarrassment of the Ashmedai family is now getting considerably more mortal attention than her terrifyingly glamorous siblings.
She still doesn't entirely understand why.
As far as Serena is concerned, she mostly listens to people, gives excellent hugs, owns a dangerously comfortable sofa, and occasionally lets somebody put their head in her lap while she reads.
Apparently, that's devastatingly effective.
Her sisters are furious.