Phoenix Maplewood i was the one who stood in rain

Her plea was a blessing to his mind, entertaining the entirely opposite effect than poor Keen begged for; it urged the creature on, where his savage jowls would lean down to rasp a breathless whisper into chocolate-painted ears. "Not yet, little bird." The king of death had yet to conclude his dismal appearance on the film of the willowy sylph's story - he was the unwritten page, ripped out of a leather-bound book. The page cast away to the wind, that managed to return and haunt the reader in a plaguing darkness, unavoidable, unapproachable.

Dark silver pushed down upon the back of her neck in response to her continued struggles, forcing her further into the blood-washed snow; he planted his weight with enough force to decrease her air supply, but not enough to cut her off entirely. The demon wanted her alive as he battered her delicate body, so he could watch the tremendous fear bulge in her electric, vivid gaze. Those sparkling gems drove him further to the edge - Dakarai, he saw in them. The cowardly father, who'd failed to raise his son. Who'd disowned his children, in favour of covering his foolish mistakes.

A surge of venom to curse his teeth, and he dove forward, aiming to savage her pelt and cover her in brutal scars, scars that would dig deep into her body and curse her for every breath she took. The hardened bone of his incisors would drive endlessly into her skin, daggers to maul her physique and destroy as much of her beauty as possible.

Esurient, and unafraid to act upon his desires.