He blinked, slowly, almost leisurely. A jagged scar ran down the length of his face, dragging down the corner of one murky brown eye. Other than the scar, he was unremarkable, but the scar always attracted attention. Women stare, wide eyed, and men turn their heads, only to make a half-hearted attempt at pretending to look at something else when he stared right back. His limp, the lurching walk and unmistakable shuffle, gathered almost as many looks as the scar. It was as if a leper walked among them, the way people gawked. He used to hate it, but now he craved it. Their frightened and questioning gazes were the only things that convinced him that he was real, and made him hope that they could see it too. The shadow. The black demon that whispered in his ear, a ceaseless voice that had tormented him with its mocking laughter and now clung to him as an infant does its mother. He wasn't afraid of the shadow anymore. Though it made him a pariah, at least it made him something.

"Try it," it had crooned to him, offering the amber liquid.

Willingly, he'd poured it down his throat while the shadow watched, waiting for him to drink more and more, grow sick, and stumble. But it made him feel powerful, popular, gave him the confidence he ordinarily lacked. When finally he could hold no more and it forced its way back up as bitter bile, it tasted of victory.

People continued to stare now, as he made his way slowly through the gawking crowd. Behind him, the shadow laughed. Then he stumbled and fell, and there were dozens of voices, not just the shadow's, all of them laughing.

"Are you alright?" She smiled at him as she extended her hand to pull him to her feet. She smiled at him, eyes shining with pity.

Pity was better than hatred. The shadow limped along behind them now, sulking in silence.