was the quiet one. He wore a red serape so stained that no one knew its original color. He carried no gun. Instead, he wielded a single obsidian dagger. Legend said he had to cut a name into your shadow before midnight, and by dawn, you’d forget your own face.
Together, they were the Three Diablos. Not demons of hell, but of in-between : the hot second between reason and panic, the flicker of a failing lantern, the breath before a draw. three diablos
You’d wake up after a night with the Diablos with your saddle turned backward, your horse’s mane braided with thorny roses, and a strange coin on your tongue. You’d remember nothing except the feeling of being played with . was the quiet one