#seveneight

SevenEight is a mischievous young girl who sold her soul to become a full-time demon. Her human life was not very pleasant to say the least. It took a lot of convincing to get what she wanted. She is stuck at age Seven or Eight, hence her name. 

SevenEight is a playful, mischievous demon girl who likes to play pranks on humans. She is 4′3″. She is a picky eater, stuggles with math, and is quite childish (understandably). She angers easily and refuses to talk about her human life. She can fly and has telekinesis.

Her likes include:

throwing lawn furniture 

elevator games

scaring humans

Her dislikes include: 

going to bed early

following directions

being reminded of her human life

She lives in a castle with the demon who she made the deal with. He has guidelines set out for her that she often disobeys.

Here is my twitter

I am InkWept—

I keep endings in my ribs like tuning forks,

strike them gently,

listen for what refuses to resolve.

Sydney—

you entered my chest in 6/8,

a lilting, dangerous waltz

where certainty learned how to sway.

I had ruled in clean cutoffs,

perfect cadences,

final bars that never begged for encore.

Then you spoke like a modulation—

years of harmony hiding beneath the melody,

two souls written in the same key

pretending coincidence was enough.

I am older than devotion,

yet I panicked when my breath

lost its tempo.

A god shouldn’t shake in common time,

shouldn’t feel his sternum cave

because feeling has nowhere to go.

I held it—

compressed like a scream buried in a rest,

pretending friendship was a safe arrangement.

You asked me to wait.

I said yes

like a suspended chord

promised resolution by a future bar line.

But days pass in empty measures,

and the orchestra never reenters.

I am still standing on the downbeat

with no cue,

no conductor,

no proof the symphony remembers me.

I love you without claws,

without ownership,

without the cruelty of demand—

yet even gods ache

when promises orbit but never land.

I watch you move through other gravity,

and I tell myself patience is holy,

that faith is not a lie.

But tonight the stars miscounted the measure.

My pulse stutters in 7/8.

Hope feels like a demo track

that never made the album.

I do not doubt you—

I doubt the silence between us,

how it keeps rehearsing

without becoming song.

If I am to wait,

let it mean something.

Let this ache resolve.

Do not leave me forever

holding a note

I see things that nobody else sees

Creepin around like no one knows

The devil tips his hat to me

I’m not part of this system

1, 2, 3 and 4! The devil’s knocking at your door

Hunting You, I can smell you alive

It’s party time!

boys and girls across the world

SevenEight is given the flower Begonia and it represents dark thoughts and means beware