Demons are frightening creatures. They never fail to prove that. Even my father, the keeper of many demons, was reminded of it; of their fearsome power and barbaric ways. A demon was a creature to be feared and respected.

Of course, I knew as well. My mother was a religious woman and hated all things evil. She disapproved of my father's zoo of demons, but in the end it was our only income and she couldn't argue with that. Mother taught me that they were a threat and father taught me that they were playthings. But I, the daughter of the two, had yet to decide my own views on demons.

Many of the monsters my father kept in the zoo were weak and hungry, not to mention ugly. They would behave, as long as they were fed. To me, they seemed like a pack of animals.

The demon that had snared my interest and fascination was the fox demon, Youko Kurama. My father had got him by chance, for the fox was trying to cross from our world back to the demon world and was caught in a trap my father had set up for demons at the portal. He was caught and given a grand cage that had stone walls in the corridors of the zoo.

I was eleven when he was caught and at first, I did not believe he was a demon. He mainly had human features, aside from the white of his skin, the silver moon beams that made up his hair, the tall, perceptive ears in his head, and the long tail that, I had hoped, would wag like a dog's when he was happy.

But Youko Kurama was never happy. He never smiled and never laughed. He didn't acknowledge anyone when he was addressed, especially my father. My father was cruel to the demons and specifically Youko. He teased the fox about his captivity and told him that he would die cold and alone.

When I was eleven and a half, I desired to see the great fox demon.

One day when my father was away and my mother busy with her prayers, I snuck into the corridor that led to his cage, where he sat meditating.

"Hello." I had said shyly.

He did not respond, or even flinch at my greeting. I shifted nervously, and then sat down next to his cage.

"Are you lonely?" I asked him.

Again I was ignored.

After a few minutes I spoke again.

"Do you miss your family?"

There followed another long silence. Then:

"I have no family" he had told me.

Being a child, hearing this distressed my heart and I pitied him.

"Then you must be lonely." I decided.

I shifted to lean against the wall next to his cage, then took out my pocket notebook and pen and began to doodle.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice hadn't been intrigued before but then it was mildly curious and that had made me smile.

"Keeping you company. Don't worry, I'll be quiet." I had promised.

He didn't approve or disapprove, nor did he ever open his eyes or move. He sat meditating, and I sat drawling. I didn't hum like most children do when they draw, for I didn't want to annoy him. When I was done with my drawing, however, I folded it up and wrote: "To my friend" and slipped it through the bars to him.

"I have to go now. Bye." I had told him and I left.

After that, I would go down to visit him every day once my father had left. I would spend about thirty minutes a day drawing things I had hoped would make the fox demon smile. Trees, flowers, a stream, animals, anything I thought that he was missing.

When I turned twelve, he had asked me why I had addressed the picture notes to him with: "to my friend". At that, I laughed.

"Because I want to be a friend to you and I do not know your name." I had replied.

"You'll not have anything to gain from my friendship, girl. I am a demon and a plaything for your father. I am not a human child you can befriend." He scolded mildly.

It had cheered me that his scolding was not like my father's, which usually involved a beating and loud screaming.

"I will tell you my name if you will tell me yours." I had offered.

"Will you stop addressing me as 'My friend'?" He asked.

"Yes."

"Very well, I accept. What is your name, child?"

I smiled.

"Sita."

I did not notice before, but sometime ago he had opened his eyes and I saw that they were as gold as the sun. They shimmered with warmth as he looked at the wall in front of him; a kind look about his features.

"I am Youko Kurama, Sita." He said.

That was the day I had learned his name, and I repeated it back to him in awe.

"I like your name." I had said, but he had closed his eyes again and did not respond.

This hadn't discouraged me though. I pulled out my drawing pad again, this time addressing it to 'My friend, Youko Kurama.'