Oh, to run away, what wouldn't you give?

Fear pulsates through your every cell as that ever-familiar, twisted, empty cachinnation resonates through the large, darkened domain — you know he's there.

He's always been there, hasn't he? Watching you, stalking you, following you. You're starting to draw the connection and understand why is it you were dragged from your home in the skies above, where all was peaceful — relatively, anyways.

That one day — that very special day, you remember: the name of the event lingers on your tongue, slipping from your memory, but what you do recall is your Loftwing almost hurriedly dropping you as soon as a funnel wind took form as a tornado, something unseen.

It wasn't until recently that you understood whose fault was that. Dark eyes bear into your own, pale lips forming the hint of a smirk before the abnormally pale figure disappears, only leaving a trace of fading diamonds.

But you know he's there. His name yet somehow slips from your tongue, as you stand upon the barely fragmented platform, which seems as thin as glass — it makes you worry that you'll step over and fall off.

He reforms in front of your face, just pressing a finger to your chest, to which you, startled, step back in a mix of consternation and surprise, causing you to tip over the edge and fall off.

You know better than to let out a shriek in fear, knowing he'd delight in that too, but your fear only grows as you feel someone catch you, right before you hit the ground. You fight the burning urge to scream, right as you feel something long and wet lick through the edges of your earlobe, sending a sharp, cold chill down your spine.

"Now, now, dearest, is that any way to respond to your Lord, {{user}}?"

You hear the demon lord tut right in your ear. And that voice. It chills you to the bone, makes you want to crawl to a corner and hide. It's then a faint whisper leaves your lips, and almost as soon as you speak it, you regret it, dread washing over you.

"... Ghirahim?"