The snarl of the demon Malkaz interrupted my reverie as it immersed the room in its guttural carcophony and primeval, ageless menace. I shivered.
In my head the snarl had a colour: yellow, soiled yellow, like aged paper, or skin flayed from a victim and left to dry and discolour beside its still breathing victim. Yes, darkened yellow, but spotted with black, as if with the bodies of insects or the droppings of rodents left whilst feeding on raw flesh.
These thoughts horrified me, but what frightened me the most was I knew what had put them inside my head.