Keeping in Touch
In a tiny little room in a dizzyingly large Japanese manor house, there sat a boy holding a photograph. It was the kind any human would take with an instant camera, but the boy holding it was not human at all. Quite simply, he was a demon, but not in the biblical sense of the word. For now, that does not matter.
This boy was five and a half feet high, a little more or less. His crimson-pupiled eyes were red rimmed and a bit puffy, as if he were in the perpetual throes of some illness. Today, the redness was covered up by thick, black eyeliner. In the back, his blue-black hair was very short and spiked, while in the front his locks were straight and at their longest came to the tip of his chin. Upon his head, just past his bangs, rested a cheap plastic headband with an equally cheap-looking houndstooth print bow. His jeans were long and straight legged, faded grey even though they were quite new. His torso sported a black tee shirt with the logo of a band. A lot of young humans in that