Art by Alana


“They are coming.“

Randy looked up, wings twitching. Even an incubus wasn’t quite used to hearing voices, much less voices issuing eerily from his underwear drawer.

“H-hello?” he said. “Whoever you are, I want you to know that it’s usually a lot cleaner in there. But laundry money has been a little short, and-“

“You never spend money to wash. You throw in with your downstairs neighbors in exchange for favors.” The voice was faint but clear, a bit reedy yet clearly feminine.

Randy tapped the top of his dresser—abyssal ironwood, worth more than the rest of his furnishings combined. Perhaps the whisperings were why he’d found it on a rainy street corner in the Iron City of Dís. It had taken all his charm and not a few sexual favors to move it back to his abyssal hovel of an apartment.

“Ironwood only speaks when it is cut,” the voice said. “It curses the lumberjacks in dead tongues, and only their lack of understanding protects them.”

The voice was clearly coming from the topmost drawer, just below Chompy, the voracious largemouth begonia that had been Randy’s prized pet since Nuby had given it to him after a wild Valentine’s night. Chompy, gorged on one of the many infernal rats that sometime passed through, merely sighed at the noise.

Randy slid the topmost drawer open, and immediately saw that most of his favorite thong had been devoured from inside. “It wasn’t supposed to be crotchless…” he sighed. It was good stuff, too, demonweb-spun and naturally chafeless.

“I was the biggest worm that had ever been in them.” A colorful moth, as big as Randy’s hand, fluttered upward out of the mangled remains of his unmentionables. It alighted on the side of the dresser, drawing only a disinterested grunt from Chompy.

“An Abyssal Swallowmoth,” Randy said. “I’ve heard of you. You tell uncomfortable truths and uncomfortable lies, right? Do me, do me! I love a good roast.”

The moth twitched its feathery antennae. “The ripples of your selfishness are echoing across the planes in ways that will not fully be understood by any but the gods, and even then not until long after your demise.”

“Ah!” Randy squealed. “I love it. You’re so precious. Tell me, am I really the greatest lover in the abyss?”

“Only according to YOU,” the moth said.

Randy scooped her up. “I know who you sound just like. Her underclothes could use some strategically placed holes too. Let’s go get you in a box with a nice ribbon and pay her a visit.”

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