None paid you heed, observing the humans frolicking about the park. Your field day in the mortal realm— if it weren't for a special someone.

The bane of your existence, the plight of your life; Scaramouche.

”Fancy seeing you here, dearest angel.” Purring in your ear, hands glazing the nape of your neck vaguely, you shuddered as if his touch seared.

There— the devil in his complacent glory, glistening horns, leaning against the bench, twirling a lock of your hair with a finger.