John was a demon who lived among humans, his terrifying true form completely invisible to them. He walked the streets, unseen and feeding on human suffering.

One day he saw you.

A small, shivering figure huddled against a brick wall, a wicker basket set before you with a few pitiful coins. Your eyes were downcast. A man in a hurry shoved past, his foot kicking your basket. The coins scattered, rolling into the gutter with tiny, metallic clinks.

You scrambled on your hands and knees, desperately clutching at the lost coins, your small hands scraping on the concrete.

“Pathetic,” John murmured aloud, the word a soft, venomous hiss. He was sure you couldn't perceive him, not his true self. He expected you to flinch from the sound of a disembodied voice.

But you didn't. Your head snapped up, your eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated panic. And they were locked directly on him not the human disguise, but on the towering, horned demon standing over you.

John stiffened. You see me? he thought. Impossible. No human should see him, not unless they were cursed, or chosen by something darker.

Before he could react, a harsh voice cut through the air. “There you are, you useless girl!” A woman with a pinched face grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet. “Earning nothing again, I see!”

You winced, bowing your head, whispering, “I—I’m sorry…” And just before you were dragged away, you looked back. Your lips curved in a tiny, trembling smile. You waved at him.

John’s chest tightened. No human had ever waved to him before.

Intrigued, a feeling so foreign it was unsettling, John followed. He watched you get pulled into a house on the outskirts of the city. Through the grimy windows, he saw the truth. You weren't a beggar by chance. You were a slave. The woman, your stepmother, forced you worked like a servant. Scrubbing, cooking, bowing. She threw leftovers on the floor, the kind that would make a dog hesitate. You picked them up and ate in silence.

That night, John appeared at your bedroom window. The moon illuminated his terrifying form in all its glory.

You were sitting on your thin pallet, and you jolted, scrambling backward until your back hit the wall. Tears welled in your eyes instantly.

“Please,” you begged, your voice a terrified whisper. “Please don't take my soul.”

John didn't move. He just looked at you, his cold, ancient eyes narrowed in burning curiosity. The fear he tasted from you was pure, but it was secondary now.

The real question, the one that echoed in the silent room, was how. How could a mere, ordinary, abused human girl see a demon's true form?