I've been following her for a week.

I conceal myself in dark corners and project myself into her mind, whispering all the things I know she'd like to hear. And every time she whirls around, thinking I'm behind her, I ensure I'm camouflaged, and she won't see me. Behind a bush, a tree, another person; I'm always hidden, and she always shakes her head and moves forward, thinking she's hallucinating.

She's not. I'm causing this. And the poor, sweet soul has no idea.

These powers I've been gifted—getting into someone else's head—they're intense. At first, I could only use them a few minutes at a time, because they depleted me. With practice, I was able to stay in Dru's mind for hours, and eventually, days.

But it's not only physically exhausting; it's mentally draining. I have access to some of her thoughts, and they're confusing. The word angel keeps popping around, making no sense. She keeps calling herself that, and while I initially thought it was a term of endearment, I'm no longer sure.

I don't stop, no matter how troublesome her imagination is. No matter how violent she's become towards others. Many folk jerk sideways at her approach now. She's known as the brooding witch who stomps around grumbling, and no one wants to get in her way. She's been banished from Hazel's Vale, and rarely leaves her temple grounds cabin except to gather food.

Apparently, the priestesses are no longer sharing their portions with her. I find it hard to believe they'd share with anyone, in truth. What I learned about them through Bazroth was that they only cared for the goddesses, only served them.

Somehow, Dru made friends with them, and they'd granted her shelter and safety. I have a feeling that will all pass, soon. They're sick of her, of her antics, her moods. She's often inebriated, yells at everyone, and no one wants to be around her.

But I keep on. I force images of myself into her brain; memories of our night together, and of other nights that might have occurred. I fill her up with desire, then yank it away when she wakes, alone and all dried up.

I've touched her, a time or two, while she slept, taking naps in the few inns that would let her use them. She has no clue. Her body responded to me, and in her head, she was picturing us making love, so I didn't consider it to be too big of an invasion. She wanted it.

But even if she woke up, she wouldn't have seen me. Perks of my demonic power: I could be invisible if I wanted to. So I hovered over her half-naked body, trying not to drool as I enticed her with sexual dreams.

Often, I murmur in her ear, making her tremble. I say things I hope will arouse her, soothe her. But all they do is rile her up more. She's loaded with fury, and she's on the borderline between sanity and losing it.

In the moments I leave her alone, I curl up in a ball in my rented room, rocking myself. It hurts me to do this to her, to inflict so much torture. She haunts me, too, though she's not aware of it. She's not consciously doing it, because she's so busy trying to ignore her thoughts of me.

I wish I hadn't acted so brashly. I could have gotten away with a few more nights with her, a few more rounds. Could have indulged in her a little longer, satisfied my urges, so it wouldn't be so difficult for me to continue to ruin her from the inside.

But Bazroth's voice echoes in my head—yes, a real power, I've realized. I first thought I was receiving past recordings of his words before I was born, but it's truly him. He squeezes into my mind for progress updates, demanding to know how soon the population will be infected.

I'm forced to tell him it's still a work in progress, and he doesn't like it.

"It's a time-crunch, Azath. We don't have unlimited time or resources."

He's right, I know. My time is counted, too; this atmosphere is poisonous to me, though I've been able to resist its toxicity thus far. Not having lived in Hell as long as most demons, I developed a sort of immunity to Exivaria's oxygen...but it's going to get me.

The goddesses won't allow demons to thrive for long in their world.

Every day, I witness Dru's demeanor worsening. Her moods drop from low, to lowest, to cruel. Her heart throbs in pain, its effects reaching me and disconcerting me. Once or twice it's throbbed so harshly, I've wondered if it was my heart aching, or hers. Perhaps both.

Her glow has diminished, too. That blinding aura around her heart is lessened, and I now see that she was never pure red. She was dark red, streaked with a lighter red, and covered in splotches of black. Which means she was never as pure as I thought.

Her heart isn't normal.

I spent so much time thinking she was a goddess, but she's not; goddesses' hearts are white. They're impossible to look at without burning one's eyes. Bazroth instructed me on this, and warned me against it, too.

Dru is not a goddess. But she's not human, either. A human heart is red or darkening if it's infected. Hers is...a mix of so many things at once, it frightens me.

She's something else altogether, and I can't figure out what.

It keeps reminding me of Bazroth's ominous behavior last week, when I asked him point-blank what Dru was. He knew, he lied, and now I'm starting to realize it.

But why wouldn't he tell me? What was it about Dru that he didn't want me to know?

Tonight, I'm going to figure it out. Or at least gather enough proof of her abnormality to bring it to Bazroth and demand an explanation. He doesn't owe me anything, but I have to try.

I can't concentrate on my role until I know who or what I'm dealing with.

So I have to dig deeper. I have to interrogate Dru while she sleeps, seep into her thoughts and put them together. I haven't done much investigating, too busy making her want me; but now I need answers.

Tonight, she's in her cabin. I've not followed her there yet, preferring to remain away.

I teeter on the edge of the temple grounds. On principle alone, I shouldn't be able to enter—demons are barred from any holy ground and burn if they try to breach it.

But something tells me I'm not a regular demon, and Bazroth knew I might have to sneak into places I'm not meant to.

I have to visit her. There's so much I need to know before I continue my mission. If I'm going to ruin her, I must know what she is.

I grit my teeth, glancing up at the full moon as I step past the heavy iron gates—and wait. I may die tonight, but I pray to Bazroth that I won't.

When I gently open my eyes, I realize I'm alive. No burning sensation on my skin. No tightening of my limbs, no squeezing of my heart.

I made it onto the temple grounds.

I rub my hands in satisfaction, sniffing at Dru's delectable scent. Her cabin is off to the side, in the temple's forest. It's not hard to find it—a blockade of dark wood, with a vibrant red door, and a barrier of magic around it.

A barrier that's weakened because she's not herself.

I take note of the barrier's color and texture as I pass through it. I intend to tell Bazroth about it, because what regular human would have the ability to shield herself like this? It hasn't stopped me, but it'll stop others.

"Interesting," I mutter, checking the windows before placing my hand on the doorknob. Lights are off, meaning she's asleep.

At least, I hope she is. What if she's been playing me all this time and she's actually inside, waiting to trap me?

I gulp, concentrate...and enter.

The cabin is one big room, separated by dividers and bookshelves. A small kitchen area is to my right, and the sleeping quarters are in the far left. She's in bed; through the darkness I see the rising and falling of her chest underneath the covers.

I creep into her mind. Her dreams are troubled, and they're of me. She's running from something, and I'm beside her; and then, in an instant, I'm the one running after her.

"You're a fool, Az!" she says in her dream, her voice choked with emotion. Sadness or fear, I can't tell which.

"You're the fool, Dru," dream-me responds, much too calmly.

I raise my arm and employ magic to twist the situation, to make dream-me disappear.

Dru's dream self stops running and turns around to see me.

"You," she says, glowering. "What do you want?"

I take a step forward; she takes a step back.

"I'm not here to hurt you," I say, my palm extended as I attempt a small smile.

"Oh, you mean like you haven't been hurting me since you showed up in my life? You're a demon." Her body recoils. "You're evil. And you're destroying me. Get away from me."

This is the first time her subconscious has resisted me. Maybe she's growing stronger in all her pain, which means I'll have to work harder to haunt her while she's awake.

But for now, I have questions. She can't deny me in here; she can't wake up unless I let her. This dream is mine now, I control it.

And I must understand what she is, so I can interrogate Bazroth on her nature. So I can find out what he omitted to tell me about her. Because he knows, I know he knows.

And I'm not the type to pretend. If he wants me to accomplish his vision, he needs to give me all the information.

I squint at her dream-self, red dress flowing in the wind, waves of dark hair coiled over her shoulders. "Dru, what are you?"

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