To trace the darkness with the tip of his shivering tail is all Fierte has longed to do.

Night came with a vengeance, a quietness, a longing. It wrapped him up in cold, dead arms and held him with the tightest of vice grips. What kind of secrets does such a toxic, clenching lover hold? He has come to know every inch of her, all her good and her bad, her delights and her irritations. He loves her, monster children and all.

Never did he think he'd succumb to evil; and often, he doesn't. He visits his family regularly, domed head held up in high spirits. The dullness that sunshine and normalcy casted over his face disappeared once he realized the light was never coming back. Welcoming the tense darkness was so much easier when no one else could see and - why, tasted so delicious on his tongue when he couldn't see the blood. When the darkness was so heavy he couldn't hear the cries.

How strange to find the secret to his happiness was letting out the creature whenever it scratched at his throat.

So now his tail shivers and pale, pale eyes scan the darkness for heat signatures and other, much less controlled monsters. It's not often he gets to relish such solitude.