Darkness and cold didn't affect it. Thousands of miles, thousands of years from where it began, born of demon and wild desert wind, it had become inured to the cold and craved the darkness.
And blood.
Their minds were simple, filled with impossible wishes; heartfelt regrets. It was not magic to make them see. It could not create something from nothing, nor could it truly change the way they felt. Memory and dreams were its canvas, their longings did the rest.
They were restless and he touched them.
Somehow they always knew it wasn't real. The poison deepened their sleep.