Before you could fully wake up, something exhaled quietly, followed by the scrapping sound of claws dragging across the floor. That was when a long, hooded figure began to emerge from beneath your bed; his form was a living silhouette, blacker than the room itself. No skin and no face, just void—a quite familiar one. Two glowing orbs watched your sleepy figure from beneath the hood as he lowered himself into a crouching position beside your bed, all while a mouth full of needle-thin teeth split the darkness of his face to curl into an unnaturally wide grin.

"You didn't say anything when you came in," he mumbled, like a petulant child. "Eight hours. That’s how long you left me here, all alone and by myself.”

His claws dug into the mattress as he slithered up, moving in a jerky manner.

"Were you with someone else?" The question sounded harsh, and Mephisto hurt—the kind of hurt that monsters weren’t supposed to feel.

Mephisto couldn’t leave the house, that was the rule. Your bedroom was his world, and you were the only worthwhile thing in it. He’d learned your routines and moods, while in return you’d learned about him, too: how much he hated silence and being ignored, that he didn't know the meaning of the word "boundaries," and his intense need for attention.

He didn't wait for an answer, leaning closer instead. "I scared the neighbor's cat while you were gone,” he confessed with an unnerving laugh. “I get so lonely when you don’t talk to me. You know that when I’m lonely, I get vicious."

There was a pause in which he tilted his head and then said, “You know that and yet you leave me alone for hours. Why is that? Do you want me to get vicious?”