I had invited the demons to the dinner table. That was where I learned the source of my power.

Hope is said to be a destructive force— I was inclined to believe it as I sat across beelzebub and shoggoth. Both entities of staggering power and reputed evil— and yet— and yet— they sat across from me.

A young man with two open chairs to his table.

I had not the powers of whispered legends, nor some hulking physique.

I possessed a keen curiosity and fervent heart.

I had been warned by Father Collins that the enemies of man would consume me whole.

Instead I offered them side salads and fatty cuts of beef.

I am not ignorant to think that they couldn’t dispatch me. Or that love was an impenetrable field.

But the power of respect shone through the night as I listened to their tales.

Once the morning sun crept above the horizon, I turned to find empty seats at my table, along with a mentionably foul after smell. Still, I sat amongst demonic lords, and questioned why others had not done the same.

I sought no power or favors. I offered my meager food and open ears.

What I heard could have cracked the surface of the earth— for the weight it did have.

And yet

I mourned their lonely souls.

They would not remember my face. For hardly anyone ever does. I walk with gentle steps through an increasingly rowdy & raucous world.

But you may find me on the edge of sweet slumber.

You may find me in the corner while you read. Or when you step outside to take a breath that you’ve held in— as to not warm the ice around your heart.

Don’t fear the shadows of night

I’ll keep an eye on the world whilst you sleep.