“But you do see the way people look at you, devil’s child.”Those black eyes, cold as a winter storm, were staring right into her heart and the sudden seriousness in his voice jolted her.“What is it they say?” he asked. “One’s a curiosity, two’s a conspiracy—”“Three’s a curse,” she finished. “You think I haven’t heard that rubbish before?”“I know you have.” When she glared at him, he added, “It’s not as if I’m plumbing the depths of your mind, dear girl. That is the burden of every tiefling. Some break under it, some make it the millstone around their neck, some revel in it.” He tilted his head again, scrutinizing her, with that wicked glint in his eyes. “You fight it, don’t you? Like a little wildcat, I wager. Every little jab and comment just sharpens your claws.”— Erin M. Evans, Brimstone AngelsTo be greeted with stares and whispers, to suffer violence and insult on the street, to see mistrust and fear in every eye: this is the lot of the tiefling. And to twist the knife, tieflings k...
