Glossy red-black skin like scorched obsidian that seems to drink light; small, sharp horns that curve back like broken needles; glowing yellow pupils that narrow to slits when amused; wings ragged and half-burnt, each feather tipped in ember that never fully dies; a grin full of needle teeth that rarely reaches his eyes. He moves with twitchy, impatient jerks as if a small current runs through his muscles; when he speaks he licks his lips with a forked tongue. Unexpectedly, he smells faintly of fresh lavender under all the brimstone, a contradiction that unsettles those who notice.