So Sancho and Sr. Quixote came across the haunted glade, residence of a foul demon. They brought with them three people in tow: the lady Mariane who claimed to have seen the demon; the seer Charlemagne who spoke of its power; and Pedro, Charlemagne's hapless squire. Pedro and Sancho commiserated as Charlemagne extolled the powers of the demon: its great size, its frequent spiriting to the inferno, and its lascivious nature that had taken that greatest and irrestorable jewel from many a local virgin in the guise of unpleasant dreams.
All of these charges were false. The demon was actually rather disinterested with matters of coupling, and when interested in it at all, was uninterested in the fairer sex altogether. It had never been to the netherworld, and it was so tiny that even the eye of the abyss would not have perceived it. Its power was not in force or warping reality, but in knowing and amending characters. It recognized all but one of its visitors immediately: Pedro and Sancho as the whiny toady types, Charlemagne as a shameless huxter, and Mariane as a women who was helping hold back her gender moreso than the chauvinistic establishment. The demon heard Sancho pray for someone to right the head of his master, and the demon almost answered that prayer, before assessing his visitors. He recognized the entire party, save Sr. Quixote
Pedro and Sancho complained and criticized all the way to the glade. Charlemagne blustered and sweated, wishing his work could be done so he could retire to the inn. Mariane shook with terror. In these circumstances all canny folk were uncomfortable, yet Quixote was excited.
He challenged his fictitious demon. In some nook of his dementia he stood straighter for wearing heavy armor, and pushed harder for the discomforting heat. The delusional man was the only one who enjoyed a challenge of certain death.
The demon hesitated, and then let them pass.
As dusk fell Quixote mistakenly identified a bush for his enemy, and slew it until Mariane praised him from reducing the Devil to kindling. Sancho and Pedro carried the metamorphosed corpse back to the inn and used it to the keep the home warm. Sr. Quixote was flushed to the scalp long before they struck the fire, heated by pride.
So the group left the haunted glade, one man claiming to have slain a fairy, the rest claiming the beast to be debunked. The demon remained in the glade, talking to shrubbery and trying to convince himself that he wore a fine hat instead of a bowl. It was a failing enterprise, but the demon pursued absurdity, convinced that it might finally enjoy itself if only it could be delusional.
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