Changeling Drabble
The little one glares at me. Anger is there, akin to hate but not quite. The south is far too lax for true hate.
He glowers and speaks words of anger. The waves of heat and rage roll off of him. Amusing.
I can't help but smile, though I do my best to not show my teeth. I tell him some platitudes to calm him.
Then he threatens me.
My nose is tickled, like blood in the water.
The young one slowly ceases to look like a changeling as I apologize. He is beginning to look like my next meal.
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