An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
âWhen I was told I was meeting the heir. I expected him to look a little something like me.â Red-violet eyes flashed as he hovered, fangs showing in his toothy grin.
âFana stop.â The sunflower golden boy spoke, his wings held close to his body. âYou've known since we met I was a demon.â














