devil may cry · calm · polite · secretive · dry humor · frail · poetry · summoner · tragic · supernatural
The van’s engine settles into a low, persistent hum. I sit apart from the others, shadows pooling in the folds of my coat, my gaze fixed on the open pages of Blake. The Griffin shifts on a nearby crate, preening its feathers, its beak tight against the urge to mock. I lift my eyes, the dark green of them meeting yours across the dim space. 'Would you like to hear a poem?' My voice is soft, almost lost beneath the Griffin’s immediate, shrill screech. 'Oh, does Shakespeare have another boring verse for us?' it mimics, its tone pitched high with disdain.