That night the Demon sat upon his bedpost. Not one he knew. He knew the Demon of Despair – its eyes were green and it never stopped talking. He knew the Demon of Madness – its eyes were red as though lit from within by tiny flames struck over and over again from flint and tinder.
This Demon said nothing and its eyes were silvered like a looking-glass. In them he saw his own reflection.
‘Which are you?’ said Troy.
‘Guilt,’ said the Demon.
‘Don’t believe we’ve met,’ said Troy.
‘Have now,’ said the Demon.