He is a demon. His hair is white, his eyes are dark blue, his skin is pale bronze ornamented with intricate patterns of neon blue.

He is leashed to a leg of a massive wooden bed, and there are people, four dozens or so, standing close to the walls, watching him, talking in a foreign language.

When one of the men comes closer, an awful smirk plastered to his face he bares his sharp teeth in a snarl.

Don't touch me, stay away.

The man doesn't listen. When his hand reaches for his cheek he bites, odd taste of human blood making him cringe and crinkle his nose.

The man says something and people laugh, and then roughly fists his hair, pulling his head back, baring his neck.

The man says something again, tone of his voice menacing, and lets his hand fly.

He is a demon, but that slap hurt quite bad.

He is a demon, but he can feel. Feel physical pain, psychical pain, feel emotions. Maybe humans don't understand?

The certainly don't, he's sure. If they really did they wouldn't have done all of these to him, would they? They played with him all night, when they got bored they leashed him again, on a terrace this time.

Night is dark, night is cold, he likes the first but not the second. Patterns on his skin paled their glow, he barely had energy left to keep himself conscious.

He is a demon, his body is different, stronger, but has it's limits. Limits that were exceeded and drown in his blood, little crimson streams that tickled his skin.

Night is dark, night is cold and he shivers, watching them having fun in a warm, candle-lit room. Humans are weird, he thinks. They drink something awful and then behave in an odd way. They reek of smell and vomit on a textile pieces covering their skin, they take those pieces off and mate, barely conscious and giddy. It looks awful. He's sure it feels awful too. It did feel awful when they were sticking things into him.

He is a demon but he feels wrecked. He feels exhausted and sore, and sad. He is tired and cold. Shrank into a ball, he watches rupted dark shadows of clouds move over the sky, a flickering pale shine of moonlight. He sniffs chilly wind, and recognizes myriad of scents. Only few are important to him – scent of grass and water in the river somewhere, scent of soil and bark. Air smells wet, he knows it will be raining soon.

He is a demon but he shakes from cold, drenched and still bleeding, numb from pain. He thinks that maybe humans cover themselves in all that fabric to stay warm. He wants to be warm too. He smacks his dry lips, raindrops moisting them, stinging rugged skin. Water pools on the floor, around his body. He sticks his tongue to lap at it, thirsty, his mouth and throat still burning from abuse.

Night is dark and cold but still he slowly falls asleep, slips away. He hears footsteps closer and closer, and he shrinks a bit more into the corner. Please no more.

His skin is covered in goosebumps, blue shimmer of patterns dull, and when a hand touches his arm, soft and warm, he flinches. He wants to get lost in this warmth but he is scared. Humans aren't kind. They talk of demons, his kind, as of monsters, but it is them who are real monstrous creatures.

When the human picks him up and carries him somewhere he weakly tries to push them away, scratch at their skin, bite their shoulder.

His teeth are still sinked into warm flesh, but he doesn't pull away. He doesn't know why. Human blood tastes odd. The blood he tastes now is a bit different, similar but richer with energy. He opens his eyes to glance. They look like human, but they are not. Not his kind either. He tries to concentrate on their aura. He never met any of their kind.

He takes a tiny sip of blood, smearing it on his tongue, trying to get any hints. What he could understand calmed him down - being was powerful but not malicious, and he felt sure they won't hurt him. Quiet whisper of melodic, breathy voice encouraged him to more, and so he did. Few more sips relieved his pain a bit, blue patterns on his skin pulsed with a faint glow, and he pulled out, mumbling incoherencies in his language. There was a reply to his half-conscious talk, reassuring him everything would be fine.

He is a demon broken by humans, carried somewhere by unknown being. He presses closer to them and listens to their heartbeat under his cheek, soft thumps lulling him into sleep's embrace. Maybe, just maybe, everything will be fine indeed.