Draco delights in the suffering of what others cannot have. When he watches a filly try her hardest to reach a bright winter berry, he does not rush to her aid; instead, he observes her struggle with plain eyes and a flat mouth. When the girl gives up, Draco waits until she is just within sight to see him reach up and wrap his lips around the berry.
Her disappointment is a depressant but the demon lives on that shit.
It isn’t exactly viciousness that drives him to be the terrible creature he is, though that might play a part in some small amount.
It’s an emptiness, a black hole that lives in his stomach and keeps him from ever feeling full. That is what drives him to eat the berries and to devour a child’s disappointment and to walk away with nothing more than a casual swish of his tail.
And even then—even then he is still hungry.
Gospel is a gift, a kiss full of clashing bones and sharp teeth. Draco finds her as delightful as the swallowing of a child’s ruined day—the violence she carries on her back as beautiful to him as a sunset to one that just found their vision.
Hunger and appreciation tool and wrestle in his gut. He is not sure if he wants to steal her energy or bask in it; so, he settles on a simple—
“Who are you?”
@[gospel]
