...on my brain.

Curious inconsistencies, the sort that set teeth on edge, that was the way the Beast tended to work. There was no rhyme, no reason, no real way to tell what he was thinking. Deep behind the fires float in empty sockets, a brain was perpetually turning, churning, vomiting up thoughts and ideas.

None of them were meant to be taken home to mother. None of them were good - nothing good had ever come out of the Beast. Plenty of good things had gone into him though, little lights and lives he'd chewed up and spat out.

He was not in the business of caring; his was not a mind meant for mild-mannered thoughts. The only thing Bylah had to show for the way he acted was the corpses he'd left lying in his wake, a pretty little parlor trick to appease certain spirits that thought it was his duty to work.

Work? What was work to something that never stopped eating?

And so the Beast spent his time smiling - for one may smile and smile and be a villain - and could never quite stop, either. A skull, after all, has but one thing it can do.

Then here came this small thing, this white wonder that thought it knew better. Briefly, Bylah had thought of Nine, another white monstrosity, so small in his audacity. Nine had slipped and slithered, shoved himself beneath the rot-wet of Bylah's side, and had stayed there perhaps longer than he should have. You can't stay close to something that reeks for too long, before you, too, start to stink of sun-molten flesh.

Bylah considered the thing as he did all else - dispassionately, without care or consideration. What did he have a need for companionship for? What did he care about white things, and how eager they all seemed to sully themselves with him?

It wasn't his fault they all wanted to worship him, to fall at his feet and beg for supplication - like babes at breasts, perpetually coming back to what they endlessly needed.

But Bylah couldn't find it in himself to be forthcoming and forgiving. Sure, it always started small and quiet, the soft sound of breath and heartbeats...

But in no time, they were nattering, chattering in his ear, expecting company, expecting words of praise, perhaps. Bylah simply didn't have the time, the patience for such things. His Shadow might take centuries to gnaw at a secret, but unless it was to make the leaves turn brown and the rivers to dry? The Beast couldn't be bothered with the matters of mortal lives.

They had never really interested. Creatures weren't a curiosity until they were dead and gone. And it wasn't within Bylah's nature to bother with the spirit. All he wanted was the meat.

And so this small white thing tried to nag and natter. She tried to shove close, to nuzzle and be appealing, to look like something he'd be interested in - but how can you tell what such a Beast of burden might find fascinating? Where do you look?

Do you look him in the eyes, to see what he wants? There was nothing in his skull but smoke and sparks, little licks of flame curling and caressing the sockets of his eyes. Do you test his body language? Bylah's body was a language composed of mice and maggots, rats and roaches, all scurrying beneath the surface of a rotting hide, a slow rolling caress of his flanks and ribs - the latter of which had a horrid habit of peeking out from between heavy strips of muscle. No, there was nothing to be seen in his body, no sign of interest to be found.

No, the only way to tell what Bylah wanted was to listen when he spread open his mouth, letting words drip and drizzle from too many tongues, a brackish barrage of bored tones, teeth grinding and chewing at disdain like so many centuries of time. He'd watched them all pass him by, and something small and white wasn't enough to stir his interest.

Little Lovelace was nothing more than an idea, a concept that hadn't seen the light of day long enough to hold his lengthy interest. Not a posture, not a pose, it couldn't quite pick up his fancy.

And when that smile stretched too wide, and the fires of his eyes guttered and flared, he made it so simple:

"Whatever it is you think you could offer, it does not hold a candle to what I have already had."