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These brutal, beautiful shits will hide in plain sight, enchanted to look like you and me, eager to make you do things.
Peel off your clothes at the market? Bite off someone’s earlobe? Steal somebody’s dagger and drag its tip across your navel? Wander into a glade and never return? You bet your human ass, that’s them.
Sometimes they’ll slink into the private corners of your bedroom. You’ll take a second look at the mirror, having sworn the pointed flap of a wing had been there moments ago. You’ll feel their magic sweep by on a breeze, sneaking between your naked thighs while you’re in bed. And you’ll gasp, but is it out of shock, outrage, or a deeper impulse?
“I’ve got frail bones, not to mention poor table manners. I’m not magically gifted, and I’ll die someday. Your kind think you’re so high and mighty. You think you’re the better species because you live forever, because you have strength and power you didn’t earn. Well, what you call powerful, I call lazy.
