My Old Demon

She never left the old ways, never left the old magic, never left the old demon. Kept him in secret she did, feeding him from her very own soul. Each night she slept under the leathery wings in the arms of one of the oldest of them all, called by blood and violence, kept with lust and power. Born of the old ways, of ancient lore and mythical knowledge, he resides at her side, feeding her mind the stories of old, the secret ways, the hidden paths.

In the arms of a long forgotten demon she lays, whispering the songs of time long gone, listening to the wind mark their way through the darkest night. Her magic is chaos, her weapon a secret, her face hides behind a mask, that the demon wove just for her.

She never told anyone her darkest secrets, her deepest fears, she never told anyone, about those tears. She told the demon, the ancient fiend, and he fed on them like food for the divine, and used them to create a golden shrine.

She never gave up the old ways, the old magic, the old powers. She never stopped loving the beast of the night, the terror of darkness, the enemy of the light. By her side he resides, a mask he made her, a shrine to sate her, magic he gave her. She never left the demon, never sent him away, never denied him that which he desired. She never forgot him in the darkness, never stopped calling his name, she never left him behind.

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