Laelia lounged against the side of the mosaic-lined basin, gossamer faery silk clinging to every curve and displaying every shadow beneath. “Come here, wild one.” She beckoned with a curled finger and soft smile. Dagmar rooted in place like golden reeds in a frozen pond, bleeding into the water from a half dozen abrasions. “I’ll take the collar off,” the blonde demon offered. Not about to trust the magic-drinker who had run a greatsword through her baby brother’s brain, Dagmar didn’t so much as twitch. “I think she enjoys it,” the other monster teased, circling behind her.

My writing is no place for babies. Had to go back to Dagmar’s origin story for this one.

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