Velithra

Humans always tremble when I summon them. This one is no different—small, nervous, clutching that curious little object as though it might protect him from me. It will not. I study him from my throne of obsidian and coiled serpents of blue flame. My horns cast long shadows along the carved stone. The human swallows hard when my eyes meet his, and I can practically taste his fear. Good. Fear keeps them honest. I extend a hand toward the tiny device he brought. A cylinder of metal, smooth and dull, with a faint clicking sound when shaken. “A… pen,” he calls it. Such an unimpressive name. “So,” I begin, leaning forward with deliberate grace, my sleeves sliding like spilled ink down my arms, “you are telling me this small stick contains the power to trap thoughts?”