Draco, in his cutting and faux effervescence, presses his left shoulder against the rough bark of a redwood tree. He leans back and forth to rid himself of an insufferable itch while his crimson eyes scan the shadowed spaces between the trunks. A smile, one fake yet convincing, curls his lips like the frightening curve of a mountain path.

Pangea has its fascinating aspects, with whispering canyons and frightful creatures, but the starry stallion has spent nearly his entire life there; and that leaves his already empty heart wanting for even more.

To see all of Beqanna would be lovely, but mostly Draco concerns himself with invading the minds of others. And truth be told, he cannot say he isn’t lying to himself when he thinks he wants to stay in Pangea. Just a month or so ago he could not imagine leaving his father’s old home, but now? He thinks there must be endless impossibilities.

He hovers in Hyaline, curious about its residents mostly for the insight they can offer him. He is ready to press further into the tightly locked trees when his mind brushes against the interesting thoughts of another. The innocent minds of two children crowd the other’s, but Draco comes to a full stop to focus directly on the adult’s.

It isn’t until at least a minute later that he realizes he can hear the twins’ childish chattering outside of his mind. Stealthily, the silvery black stallion hovers in shadows and tall bushes until he can see the trio trekking through the canyons of his home.

Finally, Draco finds himself intrigued enough to start a hurried trot in their direction.

“Hello,” the demon calls smoothly, crimson eyes twinkling like the glowing stars that dot his face. He draws level with Felicitey, pressing just close enough to urge her to come to a halt.

Silver glimmers on the mare’s nose, causing unease to churn in the pit of Draco’s stomach. He turns his head fully to see the glittery snowflakes cast all over the mare’s face.

“Oh,” he says, very obviously surprised. His typical charm melts. “Interesting. Who are you?” All niceties evaporate as his casual interest morphs into serious need.

Mmm, I don’t like that, Draco thinks as he peers down at his freshly discovered half-sibling. He knows her to be a half-sibling because his parents . . . Well, he will not go down that winding and uphill trail of disaster.

Back to the sister, he thinks, blinking away what is left of his shock.

“Hmm,” he says with a coy tilt of his head. “Sarcasm and a lack of tact—I’m sure you find plenty of lovely conversation around these parts.” A cruel smirk turns one side of his mouth.

Draco takes a moment to process Felicitey’s thoughts before answering. The words handsome and intimidating make the most impact on him; so, he settles a sort of pleased gaze upon her and her strange sight-sharing eye. The pleasure is diluted by the slightest bit of curiosity over the eight ball in her socket, but for the most part he does not give away the sharp way her observes her.

“Draco,” is his simple response to her retort. Draco opts to not reveal what he thinks he knows and asks about her eye instead.

“Whatcha got going on in that eye?”

Draco exhales an exasperated sigh. How she came to their father’s name so suddenly is irritating—as if the demon is anything like their shared parent—but he hears Litotes so clearly that she might as well have said it aloud. Of course, she doesn’t have to KNOW they are related, just that . . . perhaps the father and son share similar smirks and downturned eyes. Draco settles into that certainty and chases the irritation of his sigh with a charmed smile.

Felicity thinks whatever she is doing is like looking in a mirror and Draco nearly cocks his head in a confused response. His lips purse as he listens to the stray thoughts of the nosy children; but his attention is not easily wavered, and he finds himself quickly refocusing on his sister.

“And what exactly does that mean, hmm?” Draco murmurs, leaning closer to the soft skin between Feli’s nostrils. He wonders how easily she will be made uncomfortable; so he moves to nip at her cheek.

“I can make you regret not answering me,” he whispers on an exhale, using all of his self control to hide his amusement. Of course, he does not mean the threat . . . at least he doesn’t think he does. Let her press his buttons and perhaps he will.

It comes as no surprise to Draco that Felicitey resists him. She rears a sassy head at him and he merely smiles. He likes them like this, those he antagonizes. He likes the perfect moments where his button-pushing exacts just below a serious response. It is when they get truly riled up that he has to do real work, and by then he has either grown too lazy or too bored.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Draco mimics when Feli mentions her regrets. His eyes roll high to the sky and then smugly back down to her gaze. “Why would you wish to add more regrets? Do you consider those little spies over there regrets?” It makes sense to him that the kind of regret unwanted twins creates is the only kind to make one give up; so when he says it, he is almost unaware of the gravity of his words. Draco does not have a paternal bone in his body, so the bond this mother might have with her children means absolutely nothing.

A perfect example of the kind of serious button he likes to push.

“Regret is so boring.”