She reminds him of the sun and he hates it.
Tirza, in all her glorious, fiery beauty seems to stand for the light that so easily exposes him. The sun sets and yet here she stands, orange and red and glowing. All she had done was walk past him, way off in the distance, minding her business and surely thinking of much more pleasant things than a demon with an unsubstantiated grudge. But the discomfort of change beats wildly in his chest and roars loudly in his ears: somehow, Tirza amplifies it and she has to know what she's doing to him.
Most of his skin is covered in scales, now - save for a few spots around his knees and tail. Just last night, immediately after the last of his fangs grew in, his tongue split down the front. Tonight, as he quietly follows the path taking Tirza deeper into the woods, two parallel sections of his back split to expose the beginnings of webbed wings. The pain momentarily brings the demon to his knees, where he dips his head and hisses, spitting his snake-tongue between his teeth as if he's been doing it his entire life.
When Draco looks back up, Tirza is much further ahead, but easily spotted by her glow. The wings on his back grow steadily, dripping blood from the two wounds and the webbed edges. Draco heaves himself upward, breathing heavily but still managing to burst into a healthy trot. It's here, in the shadows and worn soil, that he feels something in his legs shift. The trot turns into a canter, then to a gallop, then into a speed the demon has never felt before. Before he fully knows what's going on, he's cutting around Tirza and not stopping. A cackle leaps from deep in his throat.
Draco comes to a skidding stop and slowly turns around, glowing eyes searching desperately for the sunset-girl.
"Where is the sun?" he coos, voice gravelly and low.
@[Tirza]