Asmaros blinked at Caspian like he had just declared the moon was made of soup.
"I'm sorry?" he said slowly, squinting as if trying to read a cursed manuscript. "You mean to tell me—Eleana. Your Eleana. The same Eleana who once tried to poison me with cinnamon tea because I told her braids were outdated. She gave birth to the demon child we're talking about? And not with you, Caspian—oh no—but with Yami? Yami as in—" he spun on his heel dramatically, arms flailing toward the sky, "the Sulking Demon Yami?!"
Estes raised a polite finger like a patient tutor correcting a misinformed toddler. "Sorrow Demon, Your Highness. Technically speaking, Yami is classified under—"
Asmaros waved a dismissive hand so aggressively it nearly created a wind tunnel. "Shush! Same thing, Estes. Same thing! 'Sorrow,' 'Sulking,' 'Mildly Depressed with a Flair for Cloaks'—they all end up writing poetry about dead ravens in the rain. Let me have this."
