One of my demonlings had her say last night with this teeny tiny flash:
He has no eyes, the man staring down at me from the red, red
walls. Yet his empty gaze burns my flesh. I pluck a petal from my skins – a
gift. It drips with a watery honey, sweet and floral.
“Offer yourself to me.”
His is a voice from beyond. Its owner believes in magick,
and it’s true he is adept at reaching our realms. I let him flounder; his words
of power gain strength, drawing me towards his throbbing throat.
Quickly, I slip my nectar into his mouth. Magician or not,
he will forever speak in tongues.
