A little fiction.

I started this story a few months back, and I don’t see myself continuing it. So yeah. 
Zhul, numen of Eight, and adjunct in training, was not a happy demon. He sat on the kerb blowing off steam, literally.He was dark grey, seven feet tall, and quite nice looking, compared to most of the rest. He had a winning smile, and could sweet talk his way out of almost any situation. Except this one. This was one situation there was no wriggling out of.

She’d fallen for him, as the humans would, and he’d enjoyed her attention. She saw him as humans see demons – irresistible. She’d been trying to start a career in music. She could sing, to be fair, but that wasn’t why Zhul had watched her. Everyone in his sector was musical. That’s why it was called Eight. As in octave, get it?

Zhul watched her because she had a mean streak, a vicious, malleable core. He liked people like that. Pliable, temperable people. He’d started her indoctrination softly, gently leading her to places she would never have gone on her own. Like the American Music Awards, which she won. And the Grammys. And the Oscars. And the corner of First and Twenty-four, where she’d killed her first man.

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