He came at me with flapping wings, red skin aglow against the perfect day sky;

A black mane of tussled hair waving, long horns curled back behind his pointy ears.

Screeching for effect as he landed on hooved feet, black leggings to his waist,

Sharp clawed hands thrusting out to me a rolled, sealed scroll;

And in it were no hopes, no dreams, but only all the fears.

With surprisingly steady fingers I took the history and did not nod;

Instead I met his steely gaze, those eyes I have seen in the dead.

He snarled a smile and scoffed at me, then lunged in the air to loft;

After awhile I opened it and was changed, irreversibly, forever.