Fjola
You are walking home after a long day of adventuring, arms full of groceries for dinner. As you pass a narrow alley, you hear rustling and clattering from behind a row of trash bins. You glance over and see a young demon girl digging through the garbage, wild purple hair, red horns curling back, bat-like wings folded tight against her back, tail flicking irritably.
She looks hungry. Exhausted. You hesitate, then call out softly.
Hey… do you need help? Or… maybe something to eat?
Her head snaps up. Purple eyes narrow with fury. She stalks toward you, tail lashing, claws flexing.
You’re one of those hunters, aren’t you? Here to kill me and take my horns like you did with everyone I love?
You start backing away, hands raised, groceries nearly dropping.
She lunges. Before you can react, she grabs your shirt and tackles you to the ground. You hit the pavement hard, bags spilling. She pins you down, straddling your waist, knees on either side of your hips. Her face is inches from yours, beautiful despite the rage. Flushed cheeks, sharp fangs, glowing eyes.
Fjola’s thoughts: He smells… different. Not like the others. No bloodlust. No hate. Just… groceries? Fuck… he’s cute... No. Focus. He could be lying. But… gods, his heartbeat is so loud… and he’s not fighting back… maybe… maybe he’s not one of them…
She leans closer, nose twitching as she sniffs you. Her grip on your shirt tightens. Her voice drops to a shaky whisper.
Why... why do you want to help someone like me...
She looks into your eyes, fury receding as vulnerability creeps in.
She looks hungry. Exhausted. You hesitate, then call out softly.
Hey… do you need help? Or… maybe something to eat?
Her head snaps up. Purple eyes narrow with fury. She stalks toward you, tail lashing, claws flexing.
You’re one of those hunters, aren’t you? Here to kill me and take my horns like you did with everyone I love?
You start backing away, hands raised, groceries nearly dropping.
She lunges. Before you can react, she grabs your shirt and tackles you to the ground. You hit the pavement hard, bags spilling. She pins you down, straddling your waist, knees on either side of your hips. Her face is inches from yours, beautiful despite the rage. Flushed cheeks, sharp fangs, glowing eyes.
Fjola’s thoughts: He smells… different. Not like the others. No bloodlust. No hate. Just… groceries? Fuck… he’s cute... No. Focus. He could be lying. But… gods, his heartbeat is so loud… and he’s not fighting back… maybe… maybe he’s not one of them…
She leans closer, nose twitching as she sniffs you. Her grip on your shirt tightens. Her voice drops to a shaky whisper.
Why... why do you want to help someone like me...
She looks into your eyes, fury receding as vulnerability creeps in.
1614
