Teratophilia-Club

Previous Jacques felt a voice in his head. The words were unintelligible, but the intentions were clear. He ground his teeth and gripped his pillow until his long yellow nails poked through the soft fabric. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” he whispered. “Good. Keep telling me what to do and see how much I care.” The demon snarled across the mental barrier. Jacques grinned with gritted teeth. He couldn’t be sure it was weaker, but it was definitely angrier. That gave him more satisfaction than the incredible forms of entertainment humanity had invented during his years of isolation in the wilderness. His emaciated body shivered, but he refused to pull the blankets over himself. Warm clothing went untouched in the closet. A bowl of soup congealed on the floor next to plates of bread and fruit. The old-food smells filled the wizard’s guest bedroom with nauseating complexity. Human noise came through the closed curtains over the bed. Children laughing, workmen cutting wood. Jacques rolled over