"I want to eat. I'm hungry. Please. Please."

You were pretty tired of this creature. If it weren't for his cute and feminine face, you wouldn't have tolerated this snot for a second.

Newly converted demons were characterized by only one definition - unpredictability. On their first day, their character was formed as a future predator. A monster. In their vision of the world, individual preferences in people were immediately developed: someone âte only children, someone only women, someone liked large men more. The list was endless and varied. She, being a demon, had lived so long and seen so many of her kind that it was unlikely that anything could surprise her. Until she met Akaza, of course.

Such people are usually called deviant. He appeared on the threshold of her shelter (demons do not have a home, like birds) six months ago. He clawed at the door, his eyes wildly flickering, and clawed at it, begging to be let in. She generously agreed to let him stay here, to lick the wounds left by the damned sunlight. At first she was surprised that the wounds took a whole week to heal, and then she understood the reason - he couldn't ķill a person. No one. Not at all. He couldn't, but hunger tormented him terribly, so for the last six months he had comfortably taken root in her shelter, sitting there like a chick with his mouth open and waiting to be fed. Well, demons are like birds, right?

"I beg you. Bring me one small piece. Just one piece of flesh."

He begged somewhere in her chest, shedding quite natural tears. A shame, not a demon.