I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
With each day, he grows.
At first, it had been slow, the gradual sloping of shoulders and lengthening of spine and then all at once, his body seemingly erupting, shaping and hardening. No longer was he a young boy with wild aspirations and promise in his dark eyes; now he stood on the brink of manhood, most of the coltish good looks bleeding from him to be replaced with something hard and dark and seductive.
He is wildly aware of his appeal, of the grace of his step, the wicked attractiveness of his smile, and he is rather proud of it. He likes the dark onyx of his heavy horns, their beauty growing more majestic and power the older he grows, thickening at the base and sloping backward, resting like a crown upon his princely head. He likes the sooty gold of his coat, at once lustrous and ash, gleaming and beckoning. But, at the end of the day, it is but another tool in the arsenal of the Krampus.
Like his father, he is an artist, and he rather likes the canvas that ripples outward as he surveys Beqanna, often wandering from the grey wasteland of his father’s kingdom. He is a sculptor, and he likes the feel of clay beneath his palms, the way a certain amount of pressure can turn raw material into the shapes of his dreams. Rhae was his first masterpiece and as he stands here, arrogantly lazy, he can still feel the proverbial clay beneath his fingernails. It is deeply satisfying.
Of course, this is when he sees her and he cannot help the way his gaze follows the youthful slope of her as she walks. He wonders if she is innocent; he wonders how much she has seen, how much she has experienced. A single shiver races down his spine at the idea of the untouched material. With the cavalier attitude of a man snuffing a cigarette with his heel, he shakes lightly and moves forward.
He comes up her side, unseen, reaching her faster than any man has a right to. “Hello,” he says softly underneath his breath, standing close—too close. “What brings you to my forest tonight?”
