There is a tale that tells of a demon that ruthlessly ravaged the lands, creating a path of indiscriminate destruction. To reign in this beast's wrath, the displaced inhabitants pleaded with a shaman passing through. Graciously agreeing to enact justice, the shaman cruelly cursed the demon to dance itself to death.

And so it did.

For weeks the demon was forced to writhe and jerk around in a cruel imitation of a dance, until it at last her limbs fell off and she gasped one final stabbing breath, dropping to the ashes she had churned up into the air with her clawed feet.

The inhabitants rejoiced- eagerly moving back into what was left of their settlements, rebuilding what was left of their lives.

The site of the demon's final breath was disturbed time and time again, the old flesh being traded and bartered with until her parts had been spread all around the lands.

The demon was defeated. The villagers rejoiced.

The demon was gone.

She had fallen to pieces.

There is nothing to fear.

They repeated these words over and over, even as putrefied orange eyes flashed past their windows in the dead of night.



"The demon is gone!" The priest boldly proclaimed, voice ringing out over the worried murmurs of the church's devotees, all swaddled in their woollen shawls and woven hoods. "There is nothing to fear!"

The quiet muttering swelled with wails as a metallic scraping rang out against the groomed cobblestone walls, and soon the crowd began swaying as one, dignity and ego falling victim to the threads of terror that began to bind their minds.

"Citizens of God's land! Do not allow fear to have a home in your heart!"

A confident commandment gripped the crowd as a minister from the distant capital rose up, his voice speckled with the hoarse marks of a life spent commanding others.

"Fear is an invitation to the devil! Submit to your fears and your immortal soul is as good as gone!"