[As Paimon moves to once again touch Dito's forehead with one splayed hand, Dito feels the heady sensation of the demon's mind touching his own, like sinking into thick and tepid waters. The descent is gentle and pleasant, almost like being comfortably drunk, and yet he has to quell the instinct to rebel; to struggle against it like a body's involuntary response to dreams of falling. Paimon had told him that his mind could not be entered without permission, and Dito remembers something he'd read about demons-- how they, unlike humans, were incapable of speaking anything but truth.

Fractured images flash across his eyes, images of otherworldly beauty and animalistic hideousness both. The latter interests him much more than the former-- humans were infuriatingly anthropocentric when it came to their supernatural imaginings. A final image comes to him-- a humanoid figure with a beautiful mask hiding a gaping, cavernous maw deep with sharp teeth. The image lingers even as the mental link fades, like the spots that linger after one has looked at the sun too long. A golden unnatural glow seems to brighten his eyes, before he blinks and the light disappears.]

So you're a centuries-old demon in the body of some weak-looking kid. Seems like you got the short end of the stick, all told. Does he know you're in there? Why was he chosen?