I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
He appreciates the way that she responds so easily to the Fear, the way it roots through her, finding a home in her coltish chest, slender-boned and youthful. He coaxes it further with experienced hands and bated breath, letting the flame of it take hold and flare into life, letting it become something of its own creation. Would she frighten if his experience were to change? Would she recognize it?
Still, her eyes widen and he smiles, crocodile grin spreading across his sooty lips.
Her answer to his question causes his nose to wrinkle with displeasure. “Is that what they have told you, child?” He wonders if her mother had tried to hide her away, if she had tried to keep her from him after he had been so explicitly clear with his expectations. Bruise rolls his eyes and sighs, disappointed.
“Your mother is not very honest,” he says, voice almost lazy as he looks to the ground, not fully ignoring the Fear but no longer playing as loud as before. “You are mine,” decisive, easy, although he has no clear way of knowing that she is indeed his. Call it a hunch, his black eyes taking in the goat attributes that speak to a child of Krampus. “And I think it’s about time you were reunited with family, don’t you?”
Not that he has any desire to be a good dad, but he can at least show her how to live up to her potential.
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)