The Demon Knows My Vice

"Mariah," the demon brute purred her name aloud the moment after the thought left the paralyzed fae's mind. Her panicked thoughts sang to him, pinging like a sonar in the void. She couldn't speak, but she could think, and in this realm, Moros held dominion over everything—including her. He could practically hear her heartbeat racing in her chest, could smell the fear emanating off of her like a rich perfume enticing the wraith in like blood in shark-infested waters. Oh, she would know now that even her thoughts were not hers, but a broadcast for him to tune into. Would that set her pulse racing even quicker? Would the primal instinct to run grow even stronger? Gods, he hoped so! She was so small, so dainty, so fragile and vulnerable... She would be the perfect prey in his kingdom of oblivion.

With another rumbling purr, the brute prowled along Mariah's side, circling around behind her to inspect her from all sides while never letting her get a glimpse at him—at least not yet. He enjoyed teasing her, tormenting her with his presence yet leaving her unable to see him. Hungry black eyes roved over the shape of her hips, down over her curvaceous rump and thighs, then followed the planes of her emaciated sides to her belly. Why was she so frail? It was a mystery he was dying to learn more about. "A very pretty name for a very pretty fae," he crooned, raising a paw to slowly trail his digits along her side, rolling over each exposed rib. She felt so soft and warm despite her frailty, and already Moros was imagining how good it would feel to be wrapped up inside her. Oh, he was going to find out for sure... "Tell me, sweet Mariah... was it your mother, or your father Alastor that gave you that name?"

Moros wanted to see the look on Mariah's face when he name-dropped her sire, so the hulking crimson brute at long last made his way around to her front, allowing her to finally get her first look upon the dream-dwelling demon she found herself enthralled by. Obsidian black eyes pierced down into her silvery pools, a grin not too dissimilar from Alastor's splitting his maw from ear to ear—but where Alastor's smile was humorous or loving, Moros' was cold and calculating. A Cheshire Cat grin of a hunter salivating over his prey. Moros was practically giddy to see the young fae's reactions. Would she see the generational similarities between them? Or would she miss the subtle clues in her terror? "Oh, and what a treasure you are...! Now, what should I do with such a lovely little fae, hmm? Maybe I'll keep you here with me. It can be quite lonely here, and I could use your companionship. I could use it again, and again, and again..." Moros chuckled again as he raised a paw to softly caress Mariah's cheek, letting her short fur slip between his digits while he savored the sensation of touching her body, actually feeling things again for the first time in years.

"Moros"