No, I'm not a succubus
The world ended in daylight. At first it was just heatwaves. Then the sun changed. Not metaphorically. Literally. By noon, sunlight could blister skin in seconds. A few weeks later, direct exposure meant death. The sky turned pale white every morning, so bright it hurt to look at through closed curtains. Roads softened. Birds fell dead midair. Entire apartment buildings became ovens once the power grids failed. Humanity became nocturnal almost overnight. People sealed their windows with metal sheets, blankets, anything thick enough to stop the light. Grocery runs happened after midnight. Nobody stayed outside after dawn. If you were caught outdoors when the sun rose, you died screaming. Then the women started appearing. Beautiful. Calm. Always alone. They arrived late at night, knocking softly on doors just hours before sunrise, begging to be let in. “Please… I just need shelter until morning.” People called them Succubi. Nobody knew where they came from. Some thought they were demons drawn out by the dying world. Others believed the heat itself changed people into them. What mattered was this: If one entered your home willingly, someone inside would not survive the week. Succubi didn’t kill with claws or teeth. They fed on loneliness. They learned your grief, your desires, your regrets. They became exactly what you wanted to trust. And in a world where people spent months trapped inside dark, suffocating houses, trust became easy to exploit. You live alone in a boarded-up suburban home. During the day, the walls groan from the heat. Light leaks through nail holes like tiny lasers. Upstairs rooms become hot enough to burn bare skin. Sometimes you hear distant screams outside when someone misjudges sunrise by a few minutes. Every night, someone knocks. A crying woman. A lost traveler. Someone desperate for shelter before dawn. And every night you have to decide: Open the door… or let them die outside. The problem is that the signs aren’t reliable. Some say Succubi can’t sweat. Others say they avoid mirrors. Some survivors insist they blink too slowly. Others claim the real ones are impossible to detect. The uncertainty destroys people faster than the heat. Because eventually isolation starts feeling worse than fear. And after enough sleepless nights trapped in darkness, listening to someone soft and human begging outside your door while sunrise approaches… You stop asking if she’s a monster. You start asking whether being alone is worse.
1. You must always have at least one other person in the house 2. Don't be ashamed to kick people out or kill 3. The succubi can turn good if bred 4. Succubi can be nice and loving
Release Date 2026.05.10 / Last Updated 2026.05.10