"What are you?"
His words are dry, his tone calm and steady, his gaze curious.
 
"Well," I say, lazily dangling from his expensive-looking chandelier, "You ever heard of demons?"
He scoffs. I can't just hear it, I can feel it. He's genuinely entertained.
"You're a demon, is that it? Come to offer me a deal? Drag me to hell?" I can't really do any of that, but the idea seems to amuse him. He crosses his hands and looks at me expectantly, with a complete disregard to the absurdity of the situation. A warmly lit room, an old, rich gentleman... and me.
This guy is really unusual. Most people would be at least somewhat scared, or excited. Just being able to see me makes a person exceptional, but to receive it so well is something special.
 
"No, not a demon, Mr. Kite, not at all" I say with a laugh, still dangling.
"Have you met demons? Awful bunch, really. We look nothing alike". I'm trying to be casual, despite mild excitement from meeting such a curious person. He probably never did meet demons. He frowns at my response, and I can feel puzzlement at the edge of his thoughts, wondering how I knew his name.
"If you're not a demon, why suggest it?"
 
"Well, you could say we're distantly related..."
I begin to explain, and watch his facial expressions change. Curiosity, amusement, puzzlement and eventually shock. It always ends up with shock, no matter how exceptional the person is. I end my explanation with a delighted nod, quickly reach into his breast pocket, grab the item in question and shift away from the room with a flash of light and an echoing laughter. My distant relatives should be arriving soon.
 
What am I?
Not a demon, that's the most reassuring thing I can tell you. Demons really are an awful lot. They serve no particular purpose, and without one they're left to amuse themselves as they see fit. Unfortunately for people like Mr. Kite, the uniform choice is to find a vulnerable person and have their fun with him.
Dozens of lives, dozens of deaths, over and over again. He'll be ripped apart, shredded - probably eaten more often than not - too many times to count. Luckily, most minds only last until the fifth resurrection, and afterwards will stop being entertaining by producing screams or even pain. Eventually they'll get bored with it, throw it away and find a new one.
 
So what makes a person vulnerable?
Most people won't notice it, but there's been one thing following them throughout their lives. It could be a heirloom, or even an abstract concept like their soul or a personality trait, and that keeps them immune from demonic invasion. If that thing disappears naturally - personality traits can change, heirlooms can be given away - this protective trait will just carry on to something else in the person's possession. No trouble at all, really. This one little thing keeps them safe.
 
How can it disappear unnaturally?
Well, this is where I come in. When the light in a room flicks on and off for a second, I just might have paid a visit. I'm a thief of sorts, see. I don't do it for the monetary gain - I have no use for it - but I like stealing from the mortal plane. I steal for the rush. I steal for the memorabilia. I have no need for large or lavish expressions of wealth, just simple things. A golden watch, a prized pen, impatience, a love letter - all snatched away and tucked into my little collection. I do enjoy the little things.