The usurped princex sat in the prison tower, embittered and wrathful. Xir vengeance upon the land would be spoken of for generations to come, of that xe swore to the deities above and devils below. A spark of power flickered between xir fingers, a light burning hot in the dank and dark. The guards never saw it coming.

Dawn broke over the battlefield as the heroes and warriors marched home, their feet dragging with exhaustion. Only their leader noticed it, the subtle strings of otherworldly power around the group. Xe looked to the sky and smiled wearily, murmuring a small prayer of thanks to xir goddex before continuing on. The goddex smiled warmly from their throne on high. 

Tail flicking irritably, the demon sat atop the middle class, suburban home’s roof like a grotesque gargoyle, muted anger on xir features. Xe supposed that fulfilling a minor contract for a child was endurable, though the shame of being hazed into such a contract by xir peers would sting for years to come. Revenge would be delicious when it came.

The spirit let the soaking werewolf in, never turning from xir duties as shopkeeper. “I warned you, didn’t I?” xe chided as the werewolf slumped miserably in front of the ever-burning fireplace. “I warned you that it would rain today, no matter what that hack meteorologist on the tv said.”

The werewolf muttered mutinously under zir breath, glaring up at the spirit whose feet never seemed to touch the ground. “Once a witch, always a witch, huh? Even in death.”

The spirit gave the werewolf a knowing smile and went back to polishing the crystal displays.