It was August 21st, too many years later to bother tracking anymore.
He'd been drawn to Innsmouth, and had found himself the urgent job. When you don't sleep and live indefinitely, it leaves a lot of time to learn things. As such in the last few years he'd gotten a psychology degree, moving around as a therapist. He got to feed, sate his curiosity, and to use his devil skills for something useful.
He was currently in his office, decorated with antiques and the smell of a campfire. He stood facing out the window, his hands behind his back, unmoving as if made of stone.
His first appointment was due soon. A young child. No improvement in what the mortals considered too long. He couldn't blame them. When you couldn't see eternity it was difficult to find time. Always slipping, always grabbing at the Sands, always realizing you were coming up short.
He had looked into the abyss centuries ago, and it had looked back. He had clawed his way back out, and in the process he had learned that time didn't matter.
Very little mattered but what you made matter. And the only two things that mattered were feeding and figuring out mysteries.
@ProPro
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