Is he demon or mortal? It is the question for the ages. He looks hollow with his skin pulled tight against his bones and jagged corners jutting out so far it seems painful. Even he does not remember what he is anymore. Has he crawled here from the pits of hell? He likes to think so and he almost chuckles- but no. He cannot. He's watching... he's waiting. In the depths of the blackness he stands still as a stone but he doesn't find it odd that something so close to death can be so full of life. He has lived with himself so long, he knows the secret to his power. He steals from others. But he does not steal their belongings. He steals their joy, inhales in, swallows it, digests it, until there is nothing left. He takes and leaves only fear in this world. Its how he must live.

One by one, they tumble down the slick surface and he watches them from the deepest recesses of the cavern. The painted girl comes first, falling like a fool and dropping her basket. He almost gags at her scent. Even as she calls out in fear, he can tell that she is swimming in positivity. She may very well be the happiest thing he's ever encountered. It sickens him. A mass of hair follows and he slowly raises his wings. She intrigues him. She is scared, but it is not enough for him. He wants her to fall to the deepest depths of misery and beg for death. He wants her to scream, to relive her most noxious nightmares, to crawl on her knees and plead at him to give her reprieve. But he does not want to kill her. He wants to leave her a broken shadow of her current self. He wants her to rot in every last nightmare she had ever dreamed and never think a coherent thought again.

He lifts a foot, ready to move forward, ready to begin the ritual. He looks upon these two girls with black eyes and knows they will not be able to resist him. But he is stopped. Another voice. Slowly, he turns his head. His ears move, flicking against his twin demon horns, facing the stallion. He is not impressed. “The silence of the looming force and the beating of the wings must break my tendrils of darkness, but the tendrils will soon be stronger than the wind that he dares to produce,” he mutters almost silently to himself as he scowls in disdain. The winged one will not ruin this for him. He can't stand their joy- the painted girl's awe. He demands they bow before him and screech out every last thought of the devil they've ever had. He will not rest until they know nothing but terror in their lives ever again.

His wings rustle, it is just a whisper and yet the cavern seems to magnify the sound. The click of his cloven hooves against the stone ground is ominous, a Morse code that promises evils to come. He arches his neck with purpose, scraping his horns against the ceiling. The sound of nails on a chalkboard work to ruin every peaceful moment the trio before him are enjoying. No happiness can be had here. He wishes again that the stallion had not arrived. Without feeding upon another soon he will certainly lapse even closer to death. This is his moment. He must seize it and hold it firm.

As he reaches the edge of the shadows, he stops but he does not wait. At first, he over estimates his powers. He tries to reach out his magic to all three of them, to force them all into submission by breaking into their minds and wrestling forth the nightmares they bury in the deepest recesses of their brains. But three is too many for him, he cannot keep a hold when trying to spread himself so thin, so he focuses for the weaker minds. The girls. Pushing, prodding, groping through their heads, he finds their worst memories and drags them forth, ears perked, waiting to hear the screams he know will come. He demands they will never forget this day, then he turns to the stallion. “Butterflies wings are precious, such a shame when they are grazed and no longer allowed to fly. The colours will drain to a greyscale, and a hollowed image of what it once was shall spawn. Even the wind cannot carry them further,” A cold laughter erupts from his mouth, daring the stallion to challenge him. He is not afraid. It will be his downfall.