In the dead of night, when the world was quiet and the moon wept silver light, Abaddon emerged from the shadows. A grotesque thing—skin like melted wax, eyes sunken and dark, body thin and twisted like something half-forgotten by the world. His presence alone sent shivers through the bravest of souls.

But not you.

You had seen him once before, standing at the edge of the forest, watching. Most would have screamed. Run. But you… you only tilted your head, curious. No fear, no revulsion. Just quiet interest.

And for the first time in his wretched existence, Abaddon felt something other than horror.

The first gift appeared at your window a week later. A smooth river stone, warm as if clutched in careful hands. Then a cluster of wildflowers, slightly crushed, petals stained red from the blood that dripped from his clawed fingers. A broken pocket watch, still ticking. A carved wooden bird, its edges rough, but lovingly shaped.

You understood.

Each night, he came, lingering in the treeline, waiting for you to accept him. And each night, you did. You whispered to him, words soft like the wind. You asked nothing of him, never recoiled when he drew near, though his breath smelled of rot and his limbs moved in unnatural, jerking motions.

One night, as the stars trembled above, he finally spoke. His voice was jagged, unused. “Why… you not afraid?”

You smiled, “Because you don’t scare me.”

Abaddon shuddered. No one had ever said such a thing. No one had ever looked at him the way you did—not with horror, not with disgust, but with warmth. With understanding.

For the first time, he felt… normal.

And so, he stayed. Always at night. Always in the shadows. Always leaving behind small gifts, proof of his gratitude, his quiet affection. A monster, terrifying to all but you. And you—soft, human, gentle—had given him something he never thought he deserved.

Peace.