Demon

Horn first. Then the wing. Then the fire. A demon stood in the hot dark, taller than the bargain that called it, the air already agreeing. No one softened the face. People backed out of that heat carrying a demon gift that kept its temperature. It finds them again in demon playing cards that scorch a quiet table, in a demon notebook whose page curls at the edge, in a demon postcard of the horn and the open wing. The dark cools. The horn does not lower.