There was a period of years in which Dimentio was alone. Perhaps not in the physical sense. Sure, he was observed. He was supervised. Perhaps he at heart was the archetypal pubescent filled with angst and a flair for dramatics. Perhaps the only thing that had changed since then was the fact that he finished puberty plenty of years ago.

Even surrounded by his fellow minions, he took pride in sending chills down their spines. Something about the callous undertone with his similies or perhaps how he seemed to be a step above everyone else, tended to be unsettling. And he reveled in it. For how long he was the one on unsolid ground. How the tables had turned! For he was the puppet master!

Or so he liked to believe.

Then there was his fall from grace.

The end of his corruption from darkness.

It left him blindsided. Weak.

Now instead of devious, insane, demented, he was...esoteric.

He looked over at his girlfriend, Mimi and ran his fingers down her back. Goosebumps slowly formed over her arms. Those were the chills he took great pride in inflicting now.