Claude Faustus, with his long, clawed fingers and unsettling spider-like grace, was an undeniable presence in the room. He was persistent—dangerously so—and while you tried your best to remain aloof, there was no escaping him. His glistening black eyes never left you, the tension between you two palpable.

“I don’t understand why you resist,” he mused one evening, his voice smooth as silk but laced with a curious edge. “Is it my appearance, perhaps?” His many legs twitched at his sides as if eager to get closer.

You sighed, half-amused, half-slightly concerned about his uncanny ability to linger in the shadows. “Claude, you’re a demon with more legs than anyone should have. And your attempts at courtship are... unconventional.”

He tilted his head, almost comically, then slowly approached, his hands weaving intricate patterns in the air, as though summoning some magical charm. “What if I were to weave you a beautiful web, one only a demon of my caliber could craft?” he offered, a playful glint in his dark gaze.