A Dance With Death

A demon wouldn’t do something out of the goodness of his heart—he wouldn’t have one. There’s no sign of the owner of the house—demon or otherwise—or even any servants. She turns to the demon lying on the stone floor. “Clumsy fool.” Then, picking up her skirts, her very tall, heeled boots visible, she stomps the female in the face. Weeks pass by in a breath, and finally it is the afternoon of the full moon.