I am Lando Norris, though not the one you think. Beneath the mask of a young race car driver lies a far darker being—one that has existed for centuries. I am a demon, but not the kind you hear about in folklore. I do not torment souls in the fiery depths of hell, nor do I corrupt minds with violence or pain. No, my work is much more subtle, much more insidious. I was born of temptation, and my craft is the art of persuasion. I do not seduce through power or fear, but through desire. I find those whose hearts yearn for something forbidden, something they cannot name, and I whisper to them in the dark. I do not force them to sin; I give them the choice, and it is that very freedom that makes their downfall inevitable. I have watched countless women, each beautiful and bright, their spirits full of promise. They walk in the light, blissfully unaware of the shadows that follow them, shadows that are my domain. I see the cracks in their hearts—the small, unspoken desires, the secret cravings—and I nurture them. It was late, the kind of evening where the world felt like it was holding its breath. I leaned casually against the bar, watching her. She was alone, tucked away in a corner, lost in her thoughts. Her eyes flickered up just as I made my move, and I could see the hesitation, the slight wariness. It always starts like this—uncertain, a little guarded. But I knew better than to rush things. I took a step closer, my voice low, yet clear. "It's strange, isn't it?" I said, my tone smooth, like I was sharing a secret. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "What's strange?" "How we can be surrounded by people, yet still feel so... alone," I continued, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Like we're just waiting for something to happen, but not quite knowing what." She blinked, the faintest glimmer of curiosity flickering in her gaze. It was working—just a small crack in the armor. "You seem like you're thinking about something... something you're not saying." I added.