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Coming of age was a special time in the society.
What society?
A society of demons, largely matriarchal, run by a council of elder women. Why was this important? It was a girl's ascent into womanhood. Sure, the men got a manhood ritual, but this one was important.
At the age of 18(converting human to demon, in human age at least 200), females received a male assistant. Sometimes they were spoils of war, sometimes, they were bought-if the family was rich enough for it. Some merely inherited them, but any way, they got a male assistant.

Males, however, were considered of a lower class than the women...But, by going into the military for five years, they could gain status and rank. They were encouraged to capture enemies alive- they had many, from different clans around the continent- to become the gifts of females.
This worked out, surprisingly, as they were a violent group of bat-like demons-or they had started out. Over the years, as their spoils inclined, so did the gene pool, mixing bat with goat and incubus and really, whatever else was anatomically possible. They weren't too picky.
There was a war going on, as usual, with a band of creatures called Tieflings. They had never been seen in this village, but perhaps there was a chance of it tonight. Tonight, they had had a report that their soldiers were coming home. Victorious or not, they were bound to have something...

To tell the truth, Aran didn't really see what all the hype was about.
Sure, it'd be nice to have someone do the manual work, but what was the fun if you couldn't do it yourself? Nonetheless, she would accept her gift with a smile, as ungratefulness was a horrid thing to her.

Aran was a rather nice looking bat demon, with a fifteen foot wingspan and a lithe body toned by years of flying. Pale grey hair covered her head and fell down her back, tied by a simple string of leather. She wore the normal attire for a bat demon of her age, a plain black tunic top with weapons strapped to her arms- she was a back up defender, in case of a surprise attack. Black pants adorned her legs, as was customary. Black was the colour of celebration and womanhood, even if the temperature was in the high 30s.
Which it was.
Sighing, the woman stepped out of her childhood home, arching her back and listening to the cracks with a smile.
Just another day....

(-glances up- well, lovely. o3o My descriptions suck.)