I feel the demon twisting and writhing inside of me. It is a putrid, black puddle of distilled illness plaguing every inch of my being. I roll over on my bed and cough hoarsely. This isn’t your ordinary sort of cough, it is a deep, whooping cough. A cough that reaches deep down into my lungs so that I can feel the blackness seeping therein. I hope and pray that the coughing will stop within the first three barks, but once I start, I feel a tickle in my throat—feel the disgusting phlegm rising up—I feel compelled, whether I like it or not, to continue coughing. It feels like I have a hold on the cockroach slipping and sliding down my throat, but I lose it. I cause myself to cough harder and longer until I manage to finally get it up.

It may sound impolite and crude to say, but I was disappointed. The thing I coughed up was tiny—maybe half the size of a fingernail. The demon I coughed up was black, and I assumed it probably smelled like stinking garbage, but I couldn’t tell because I hadn’t been able to smell or taste for days now. I threw the tissue I had coughed the thing up on into the wastebin, then rolled over again. I hoped to fall asleep again soon, so I could forget about the demon, if only for a short time.

I hear a knock at the door. Due to the congestion, my hearing is muffled, and when I turn my head. Excruciating pain shoots up the side of my face and into the deepest crevasses of my brain as my head turns. I grunt in pain.

The person at the door takes that as permission to come in.

My eyes are blurry, but I can tell that it’s Pollyanna. How can I mistake her? She’s nearly seven feet tall, with worldly wrinkles, and muscles that put mine to shame. “Everything alright?”

I am silent for a moment. Eventually I say, “Everything is fine.”

She doesn’t move or say anything for a moment. Eventually she says with a shockingly girlish giggle, “Everything is fine. Really? Your eyes are crusted with mucus and weeping, your nose is running, and it looks like you lost even more weight. Can I make you something to eat? Maybe some water?”

I bite my lip. The demon inside me coils around my heart. “You making me something to eat is about as likely as you wearing a dress.”

Her brow furrows. She has had a change in heart recently, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t quick to anger still. The old warrior maiden spins on her heel, opens the door, and slams it shut. I hear her shout from the other side, “I was never going to be any man’s wife. I have forsaken womanhood, anyway. I don’t understand why you twist the knife deeper.”

I hear her stomp away in anger. The demon inside me writhes, and I engage in another coughing fit.

I hate her. I hate her because she can’t give me what I want. No other woman is her equal to me—only she will do.

I am a small man, in both stature and temperament. I want to control her. I know it’s wrong, but I want to. I run my hands over my yellow eyelashes, and bits of mucus roll off them. I feel bile rising in my throat, and I swallow.

I manage to mercifully drift into a very light sleep. I dream of Pollyanna. In the dream, she is who I want her to be. She does whatever I want her to do without question, and I am pleased with her. She no longer talks back, corrects me, or gives me any kind of lip.

The demon seizes my heart, my lungs, and all my muscles. I lurch to wakefulness and the demon sticks to my throat, coating it in its disgusting mucus. I cough until I am out of breath and my heart, lungs, and muscles ache. I pant once I am done, and spit into a tissue. I clutch my pounding head.

What have I done to deserve this? I wonder what grievous sin I have engaged in to deserve the catastrophic events leading up to this terrible cold.

Most of what I have done has been in self-defense. I was attacked by the king’s men, due to being related to the previous king who he dethroned. I was imprisoned for three years, and broke free, releasing dozens of criminals with me, but I was innocent, and deserved to go free.

I gritted my teeth, seething in my ridiculous anger. I find when my thought become this swiriling mire of gross anger, it is hard to pull me back, and I am better being alone.

The door opens, and Pollyanna walks in. She is carrying a tray of food. She comes and sits next to me.

She gently places the tray on my lap, and she goes silent. I look away and eat the food. It is painful and boring to eat when I can’t even taste, not only that, but my teeth are in pain, and there is a spot in my gums that feels like it has been eaten away by the demon.

I would normally wolf down the meal in under five minutes, but I know it will take me more than ten today. I glance at Pollyanna and lower my gaze. “Sorry for earlier.”

Pollyanna crossed her arms. “I understand your frustrations. I can never be who you want me to be, though.”

Perhaps this is demon—where it comes from, and why it hasn’t let me go in two weeks—is due to my anger towards her. My greatest and evilest sin is wanting to change her to her core so she is mine. I know it’s hideous, but thoughts and thoughts, and mine are always out of control.

I manage to hide my evilness as I always do. My innocence—my pale, blue-blooded skin, bright eyes, soft voice, and round features are key in this. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t expect the impossible from you.”

She tortures me by giving me a feminine giggle and nudging me playfully with her elbow. “You’re the sweetest. I’m sorry you can’t taste it. I’m a terrible cook, but at least it’s nutritious.”

The only thing she is feeding is the chittering demon.

***

After finishing the tasteless meal, she leaves, and I stare at the door after she does.

I own her. It was determined by the Antlers themselves that she is mine. I am in a cold sweat as I am tempted to give her the repulsive order to love me the way I want to be loved, even though I know it will make no one happy, least of all myself. It is the demon that whispers in my ears that tells me that it will. It is the uncontrollable, base instinct that intelligent creatures are meant to rise above.

The miasma drags me down into a pool of poison, and I can no longer breathe. I cough and cough and can think of nothing else other thanbase desires and other filth.

In the blackness of the miasma, a shining, strong hand appears pulls me out.

I stare in awe. It’s Terran, and I burst into tears. I know he is no longer here, but seeing him is enough to make me smile. He smiles and tells me, “You are better than your heart, your lungs, your hunger, and even your thoughts. You can rise above them.”

I hug this phantom of my mind, and drift into sleep.

By some miracle, I wake, and my symptoms are lessened. I touch my head, it still aches, but it no longer feels like there is a fissure in my mind. My teeth are still numb and tender, but don’t hurt as much. My muscles are unknotted, I can taste the vile phlegm that his been in my throat, and my ears feel a little less clogged.

I stare forward, and find myself smiling.

The demon lets me go. Or perhaps, I was hungry and just needed to eat. After all, food is a gift from the goddesses. Its heartiness can dispel the toughest of demons. I must apologize and thank Pollyanna for making it for me. 

I shake my head in disbelief. I remember, now, in my earlier dream, that it was fun having her do whatever I wanted her to do, but I got bored very fast. How ridiculous it would be, to rob her of her history and all her flaws. Those are the things I love about her.