13 Demonic Traits All Narcissists Share
They hide money, not out of necessity, but out of control. It’s not about finances; it’s about leverage, about knowing they’ve got something tucked away—something that proves they’re smarter than you. You could be pouring out your heart, pleading for honesty and asking for partnership, and the whole time, they’re sitting there smug, thinking you don’t even know the half of it. And it doesn’t stop there. Oh no, they smear you behind your back, paint you as crazy, unstable, dramatic, while smiling in your face. They build alliances while pretending to be loyal. Who does that?
They find joy in building a stage just to watch you fall off it while they play the hero. That’s not normal; that’s not human decency. That’s spiritual corruption in costume. Even their long-term friends, their family supply chains, their so-called inner circle? They’re not safe either. The narcissist stays loyal to no one; they keep a rotating stockpile of people they can manipulate—people who will vouch for them when things get shaky. Some call them flying monkeys; I call them bystanders with blindfolds.
Now here’s something that really chills me: they have no true identity. None. They’re shapeshifters, chameleons. They change form depending on who’s in the room, what role they need to play, what mask will earn them praise. It’s not adaptation; it’s performance. You’re never meeting the real soul because, truth be told, that soul’s long gone—or maybe was never there at all. You’re just meeting the character they’ve written for the scene.
And that leads us straight into something darker. A lot of them have no fixed sexual identity either—not because of a deep sense of exploration, not because of genuine bisexuality, but because it expands their hunting ground. If they can seduce anyone—man, woman, anyone in between—that’s a bigger field to conquer. It’s not about connection; it’s about conquest. They’ll whisper love into one ear and turn around the next moment looking for their next pawn—not because they’re confused, but because they don’t care. Intimacy means nothing; sex is a tool, gender is a costume, and love is bait. They use whatever gets them closer to control.
You’ll feel it in your bones, even if your mind tries to reason it away. You’ll sense something dirty, off, twisted—something that repels your spirit, even if your body stays in the room. Maybe they suggest something that makes your skin crawl. Maybe they push you to do what feels wrong and dress it up as fun. And when you hesitate, they gaslight, they press, they convince. Because they don’t want partnership; they want dominion.
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