When Pitchfork appears, he swaggers towards me with a confidence usually reserved for creatures twice his stature. Despite his diminutive size, however, his aura is heavy and deep.
Pitchfork is old, far too old- so old that he speaks the language of the earth and the roots, making trees seem to bend and bow at his demands. They retreat from his touch, making a path for him, until he finally arrives to my side and takes a seat before me.
Pitchfork’s long tail twirls around in contemplation as he stares at me with honey-yellow and obsidian-black eyes. He really is imp-like in stature- four feet in height at most, with goat legs and chicken feet- a chimera of a creature. He embodies the devils my grandmother described when I was a young child- the ones from Mexican legends.
His ram-like horns stand heavy atop his head, almost as if they were a crown.
“Why did I choose to be a companion?” he repeats thoughtfully, after I ask my first question, his voice carrying the joyful notes which are so characteristic of him.
“Well,” he says, gesturing towards his body, “How could I continue to deprive you humans of this?”
He grins, showing off his sharp little teeth and cockily adds, “It’d be a sin, and lord knows I’m anything but a sinner.”
“You’re a demon, Pitchfork.”
“That’s besides the point,” he retorts, waving his red hand dismissively at me.
“And besides, I’m not that kind of demon. I’m much older. Wiser. Prettier.”
He shrugs unapologetically. “I am of this earth- when the fallen were having their familial disputes with the man up above,” he punctuates this by pointing towards the sky, “I was already grown, and wreaking havoc on the world.”
“Is that something you enjoy?”
Pitchfork considers the question for a moment before nodding eagerly. His voice takes on an unusually serious tone as he lovingly begins to speak of his favourite past-time. “Chaos is beautiful,” he tells me. “It is a thing of art. The natural order of things is chaos, you see? My companion better be prepared for it- I will spice up their life.”
His eyes narrow. “Though I suppose it may be more fun if they are unprepared. There will be something thrilling about it, you know? I’m sure whoever I pick will be a fan of surprises. Or they’ll grow to love ‘em!” he laughs at the last part, as if amused by his own thoughts of all the ways he plans on surprising his poor future companion.
“But enough about me,” he says, flicking his tail impatiently, suddenly switching gears. “I want to talk about them.”
“Alright, alright, what are you looking for in a relationship?”
“Perfection. I will settle for nothing less than that. Failing that, I demand copious amounts of compliments to inflate my ego.”
I cannot help but snort, and Pitchfork seems pleased.
“And what will you offer in return?”
“I already told you. This body and…” When he notices my glare, he rolls his eyes. “Fine, I hope to teach my companion of contracts, of earthen magic, of dark curses…. I know much and I am sure they will have much to learn.”
“Good. I’m sure you will have much to learn too.”
He smiles. “You know what, girl? I hope so.”
Card: The Tower
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