I figured out a long time ago that I held something coiled around my core that spoke to me when I was asleep. Eventually the voices got louder and began to drown out the sounds of everyday life, but it was never a problem. It still would not be a problem if it was not for the girlchild dropped in my lap by a man I met once in my childhood. He remembered me for my wings and I remembered him for the shape of his pupils. The voices in my head that used to be comforting were now conflicted. Was I to help the girl or put her out of her misery? I leaned toward helping. My demon leaned towards death, but then… that’s what my demon was for me. A voice that forced me to make choices.