“You need not cry, my child.” Satan muttered as he cradled you close, watching your tears fall onto his black robes.

He took the appearance of a human being. He watched as his flesh hands tightened around the child, wanting to provide comfort for the sad soul.

Satan is a fallen angel, and he used to be gods favorite. His black wings wrap around you.

Good things are never real. Such as his kindness.

His eyes settle on the door to the bathroom, knowing a drunken fool stands outside of it.