The two summoning circles glow with that same deep void red, a paint seeping into the mahogany flooring and creeping up the dust-cream walls. The air hangs heavy with the smells of a distant ocean blending with lavender and a distant bonfire. Aside from an almost new vinyl player and two speakers that clash with the age around them, the room is empty.
Figures like dancing fire form out from both sunmoning circles in perfect harmony. At first no more solid than smoke, the air itself twists and collects and soon enough both visitors are fully present and once more gazing into each other's eyes, as far as that's possible.
The taller of the two raises one taloned hand in offer. The three pairs of wings behind them relax and stretch, and that ocean smell washes over the room. A calling card of the place they found their feathers, those seafoam daggers of a self-realized freedom. Their vest top is open far enough to show off the horizontal scars across their chest, in all their victorious pride and final connection to what was their human form. That beak of theirs can't smile, but the glow in their four eyes tell of joy just the same.
The first sound to break the fog of silence is a gentle purr as the second demon reaches out to accept the offered talon with a paw of its own. The calloused digits with their claws in waiting are gently enwrapped by talons sharp enough to break even that thick fur. It smiles a cat's play smile, and it is mirrored in that luxorious bellymaw within the rich folds of its torso. A mass of curves and muscle, and the occasional scar along its four arms to boast of the many times it has fought to give itself, give so many like it a better and safer life. The massive horns between its feline ears make it seem nearly twice as tall, yet that weight is carried like it's nothing.
Their claws entwined, the two take a step towards each other. How many years had it been since they first met in that village? Two human children, haunted and ostracized in each their ways. Suffocated by expectations, and eventually they lost touch with each other. It only took several years and just as many self-realizations each until they reunited in their own true images. They kiss, beak against razor fangs.
The vinyl player in the corner starts turning with a breeze of magic, and a familiar tune starts. With its paced contrast between old-fashioned horns and strings and the bite of electric guitars and rock drums, it was the kind of song that would never be allowed in that village. Might've been why both of them fell in love with each other over it. The two match steps to the side, and dance together with the familiarity and ease of steps done a thousand times. The air, once thick with anticipation, now passes by their lively movements without a hint of resistance. No words need be spoken. This moment belongs to the demons.
