​I Sang Carly Rae Jepsen and Accidentally Summoned a Dark Lord

Week #2, Stitch #2

Created using ChatGPT

“Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy. So here’s my laundry, so wash it, maybe?” I was singing my heart out in the empty laundromat. But when I turned around, it seemed that I hadn’t been alone this whole time. My heart skipped a beat. Holy-hell-I’m-about-to-be-murdered-in-a-24-hour-laundromat.

Leaning against the flickering vending machine was a man who looked like he had actively lost his way to a Gothic fantasy convention. He was tall — impossibly so — with a glass-cutting sharp jawline and hair as dark as a moonless midnight. But it was his clothes that made my breath hitch: a tailored black leather doublet, silver-threaded embroidery that seemed to catch the harsh fluorescent light, and a heavy cloak that pooled around his boots like liquid shadow.

Oh, and he was staring right at me with eyes that gleamed a luminescent violet.

I froze, clutching a bottle of scented fabric softener to my chest like a shield. “Uh. Hi.”

The stranger tilted his head, a single, dark eyebrow arched. He looked down at the plastic laundry basket at his feet, then back up to me. When he spoke, his voice was a deep purr that vibrated right through the linoleum floor.

“I do not know what a ‘crazy’ is,” he said, his accent thick and velvety. “Nor do I understand why you are serenading me with a demand to cleanse your garments. But if this is the ritual required to form an alliance in this realm... I accept.”

I blinked. “You... what?”

“I am Amadeus, Commander of the Night-Born Host,” he announced, stepping forward with a brisk, confident stride. “I am a fugitive from the Shadow Court, seeking asylum. And it seems destiny has chosen you to be my... laundress.”

I looked at the glowing dagger strapped to his thigh. Then I looked at my oversized sweatpants.

“Look, Amadeus,” I squeaked, my inner panic finally boiling over. “I think there’s been a massive misunderstanding. That was just a Carly Rae Jepsen song. I don’t even do my own laundry on time.”

He took another step, closing the distance between us until I was pressed against the rumbling washing machine. Up close, he was devastatingly beautiful, and a fiery warmth radiated from his skin. He reached out, his gloved fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from my face. His touch sent a startling sensation straight down my spine.

“The bond is already forged,” Amadeus murmured, his violet eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made me forget how to breathe. “My enemies are hunting me, and until I reclaim my throne, my life — and my laundry — is in your hands.”

Special thanks to **Meta Marvelia** for providing the spark for this romantasy. Get more bright sparks here:

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