13 Demonic Traits All Narcissists Share

The first one? That grin. Lord have mercy, that grin! It’s not a smile; it’s not joy. It’s a sneer wrapped in satisfaction—a grin that twists just enough to make your gut lurch. You’ll see it flash when they think they’ve fooled you, like they’re drinking in the secret power of control. There’s a moment, just a moment, when the mask slips and the thing behind the eyes looks out. What you see isn’t human; it’s a flicker of something colder, darker—like the soul behind the face is grinning at your confusion, feeding on the dissonance. It’s evil, plain and simple.

Then there’s that other smile, the one people call the “cryptic grin.” You’ve seen it: too wide, too frozen—a smile stretched like a rubber band across the face, but dead behind the eyes. Joy without warmth. It’s as if the flesh is performing happiness, but the soul isn’t home. A normal person laughs, and it reaches the eyes. But with the narcissist, that grin stays locked, mechanical—like a wax statue trying to imitate life. You don’t forget it once you’ve seen it.

Then comes the stare. Not just any stare; I’m talking about the kind that feels like falling into a void. You say something—anything—and they just stare. No flicker, no emotion, no curiosity—just a hollow gaze. It’s like staring at a mannequin that remembers how to blink. I used to think eye contact was proof someone was telling the truth, but with the narcissist, that stare becomes a weapon. You’ll be the one who looks away first, not out of guilt, but because somewhere deep inside, your spirit knows that thing isn’t right.

And then, oh Lord, there’s the rage. It doesn’t come slow; it erupts. You might have left a towel on the floor, or maybe you just breathed wrong that day. Suddenly, it’s not about the towel; it’s not about what you did. It’s about the mask slipping. See, they wear that mask all day out in the world; they play the game. But behind closed doors, once they’ve decided they count you, they let it drop. And when it drops, you see it all—the contempt, the fury, the blackness in their eyes. No, not metaphorically—literally, the eyes change. It’s like something else has taken over, something cruel that doesn’t care if it wounds. And afterward, they act like nothing happened, or worse, they blame you for the outburst. You begin to question your own reality. That’s how it begins.

Now listen to this; this one’s wild, but I know someone out there knows exactly what I’m talking about. That same narcissist can go from screaming unhinged fury to calm as a Sunday picnic in seconds. They’ll curse you out, accuse you, slice you up with words, and then come back five minutes later asking, “Want to get coffee?” And you’re left there still shaking, wondering if you’re the crazy one. And when you bring it up, they shrug—“You’re overreacting. That didn’t happen. Don’t be dramatic.” They erase the reality; they gaslight you into dust.

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