In this world it is said that a being of pure shadow lives on in the form of a bird, some call it a demon, others the Devil, and then there are the few that don't care...for the bird would forever ...
I wish to inform you of my catch of a most fine bird. For you see, this bird is like that of shadows, its wings so soft and divine, gives you the feel of touching the very essence of darkness. I must also inform you that its eyes are ice, no not ice itself, but the mere look feels as if you are within, and I do mean within, a cavern of crystallized ice.
I am fully aware that such a creature may very well be a demon, or at least, a bad omen, but nonetheless, I shall keep this fine bird in my possession. Despite
this, its powers I wish to tell are that of the unique ability to read minds and speak within
thin mind and unto thin soul. This shadow bird, as I have come to call him, may also transform into a shadow of a very fine human with shadow wings, and I say shadow in the terms of such, black, no features, besides those wondrous eyes, are such noticeable, as
well as the swaying of the form, like that of a black flame raising up to form such a majestic and cold creature.
To say that this creature has come to harm me would be quite an
outrageous lie, for is has done quite the opposite in the act of shielding me from harm and
keeping me warm within its folded black wings. As I read over this letter I've come to relies
that I once called him cold only to later refer to him as warm, I have checked this over by
touching his face while he lay asleep, still within the shadow human form I have began to
adore, and his skin was indeed cold, but quite oddly, there lay an underlying warmth, like
a small pulse that would vibrate within my body and bring my temperature to rise.
Another thing I would like to announce, more out of sheer wish than
necessity, is that his skin is quite smooth, soft more like, and his hair, which reaches to his shoulders, and one of the only features visible upon his visage, does indeed have texture, for as I now write this, mine free hand is messing with his hair, toying with it really, and I am quite surprised he has yet to waken.
Dear Brother, do you think I grow too attached? Do you think I grow to love this shadow bird? Now I find my hands trailing his soft, frail face, for he does indeed seem frail, as if a strong wind may cause those flames that seem to form him to blow out, to smolder and disperse. Ah, Dear Brother, if this bird is indeed a demon, a bad omen, or even the devil, I doubt I could leave, for his presence is addicting, loving, and suffocating, hhmm, I think I have found his lips. But for now I must end this letter, for my demonic angel has just opened his treasured eyes, and now as he stretches his wings above his head and looks upon me in question, I believe it’s time to leave.