[M] Arch Angels

[TruthSayer]

"Pray for us sinners," he grunted, gripping her around her arms and pulling her up as he rose onto his knees, lifting her into his lap. The position pushed him farther into her, her thighs splayed wide over his thighs as he moved, spreading warmth and wetness over his lap. His nails dug into her back, into the delicate rise of collarbone beneath her skin.

"Now..."

Demons climbed onto them both. He could feel their clawing little hands at the base of his cock, joining with his flesh as it disappeared into Elise, delving down to her ass, and playing with his. Their forked little tongues licked the lines of blood that streaked them both, their purified souls feeding off of it as much as Michael's did.

"And at the hour of death..." He thrust upward, his hold on her shoulders forcing her down as far as she could go. He could feel his balls tightening, drawing up into his body as tendrils of pleasure worked their way through him to pool in the pit of his stomach. It tightened as he lifted, pulled and shifted as he withdrew. It watered in his mouth as he dragged his teeth across her breasts and bit her again.

"Amen!" He grunted, the wiry pleasure inside of him exploding, rushing from his fingers and toes and arms and legs into his gut and balls and out the tip of his cock, mixing semen with blood. He shook, eyes wide open and staring unseeingly into the bright flashes of God's holy grace that splashed across his vision. He pumped into her twice more before stilling, his breathing ragged. "Amen..." he whispered again, tongue darting out to catch a ribbon of blood that slid beautifully down to drop off the tip of one nipple before biting down again, sinking his teeth in slowly.

[Tammika]

"Pray for us sinners,"

She immediately tangled her hands in his hair as he lifted her, what was left of her dress falling away. Elise linked her ankles, heels digging into his ass as she rode him grunting and crying as he pushed too hard into her. It didn't stop her from clinging to him. Curling her hands into fists as she gripped a handful of his hair at the nape of his neck.

"Now and at the hour of death." She felt him swell within her an held her breath not realizing what she was doing. The hissing sound didn't register, the sound blended with the loud ringing in her ears. "Amen," she exhaled and lowered her lips to his forehead burying her nose in his hair. Her body suddenly felt extremely heavy. Panic washed over her spoiling the intense rush she had felt from where there bodies joined. There was a wetness and he licked her, and something else...but she was losing touch... going numb, then she sensed it. The heat of sex distorted her senses, but the hiss finally registered in her brain. Gas. The fuckers.


When the first guard open the door the arm that held the injection gun faltered at the scene that was revealed before him. Lust made him twitch as the brown curves of Elise's naked form draped around Michael came into view. The pair had slid to one side leaning against the wall. Her legs still wrapped around him, evidence of their joined status just visible from the guards standing position.

After shocked moment of hesitation and the following realization that they were both neutralized, they were moved from the plane and carried inside the complex. Immediately transported to the lifts, descending once again to the prison that was their home.

[TruthSayer]

Michael sagged against the wall at his side, feeling spent, feeling elated. Demons sought to calm his sensitive flesh with licks and gentle touch, but he could not feel them. There was only Elise, and Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. His eyes, feeling heavy, tracked the calming pulse of light that enveloped Elise, a shaky, heavy hand lifting to trace the lines of blood he'd marked into her flesh. His palm flattened over her heart, a dark shape within the light, and he smiled softly.

"Because on this day atonement will be made for you, to cleanse you," he whispered, lips barely moving as his vision blurred. His eyes slid closed as his body sagged, head lulling forward onto her chest. "Then, before the Lord, you will be clean from all your sins...

"My love..." He pressed a kiss to her flesh, and slipped into the floating nothingness of God's pure light.

~*~

"I DON'T WANT IT!" Madeleline screamed, hands balling into fists in her long brown hair, chewed nails catching in its tangles as she yanked and pulled. Tears streaked her cheeks, sliding down her temples to pool in the whorls of her ears, glistening drops falling onto the hard examination table beneath her. She kicked her feet against the thick vinyl cords holding them down, little black doll-like shoes reflecting the harsh light of the large round light hanging above her, throwing it back like an insult as she reached small clawing fingers out toward the hands attempting to grab hers. Small teeth snapped and bit and gnashed as she released shriek after shriek into the tiny room.

White room. White walls. White lights. White people. White and bright all the time and Madeleine couldn't stand it.

"I DON'T WANT IT! GET AWAY! CUNT! FUCKER! LITTLE COCK SUCKER! GET AWAY!"

But their white gloved hands came at her anyway, ripping her nails away from their white jackets, away from her beautiful curly brown hair, and shoved her hands down against the table, strapping on white vinyl bindings that wouldn't let her move, touch her face, comb her fingers through her beautiful hair. Another wider strap around her waist, and then the needle.

Madeleine screamed as they brought it to her flesh, writhed against the prick of it into her skin, her head tossing from side to side so violently that white hands came around the sides of it to hold her still. She spat at the white mask the person wore, struggling, screeching, crying for as long as she could, until the drug they'd injected dragged her under in nightmarish darkness and the dreams it held.

Dr. Gilner stood, placing the last of seven spent syringes in the sharps container before removing the surgical mask and cap she wore. "Results of sleeping agent 742 on subject A409562X are better than expected," she said, knowing the small black mic that hung over the examination table would pick up her muttered words. She stripped her hands of the surgical gloves she wore and ran thick fingers through her short salt-and-pepper hair. "Time from first injection to unconsciousness: 45 minutes. Amount of sleeping agent 742 used: 1356 units."

"Better than last time by far," Dr. Takamori agreed, stepping up to the table. He held his hands aloft, keen to keep sterility while the little girl on the table was stripped of her clothes by an assistant, first the little black Mary Jane shoes she wore, then the white tights with little hearts sewn into the design. Frilly blue little girl panties and frilly sky blue dress followed, revealing the nearly perfect specimen beneath. Perfect, aside from self-inflicted scratches on the abdomen and thighs, the pinprick little scabs on the insides of her elbows that revealed where she had shoved the sharp black bristles of her hair brush into her skin. "And the units used are also far more."

"By 500 units," Dr. Gilner responded with a nod, pleased with the results. She stepped back and lit a cigarette, ignoring the dirty look her colleague shot her way from behind the plastic face mask he wore; she was far enough away from the examination table that the ash would not break sterility, and the fans set into the ceiling would siphon the smoke away from the room long before it reached Dr. Takamori's nose.

Dr. Takamori glared at the woman a moment longer, then lifted the hemostats from the instruments cart at his side, setting to work on removing the bristles from Madeleine's arm.

OOC: "because on this day atonement will be made for you, to cleanse you. Then, before the LORD, you will be clean from all your sins." Lev. 16:30, New International Version

[Tammika]

He tried to maintain is posture for twenty more seconds, but the distraction of the two degree increase in temperature irritated him. It wasn't that he couldn't compensate on the balancing of his body and the regulation of the temperature at the same time, that was a simple task, it just was not what he preferred to do at this very moment in time. He achieved his remaining twenty seconds but didn't think it fair to add it to his daily routine as complete since his mind wandered near the end of his meditation. Twenty seconds could be what's between him and full enlightenment.

He began the sequence of testing his muscles in reverse, preparing himself to descend mind and body back to the present, ending the long process by folding his body in half, turning the one hand handstand into a jackknife position and then dropping his feet gently to the ground and righting himself. Wearing nothing but white cotton drawstring pants a fine sheen of sweat was visible on his upper body. The light played nicely off of his lean muscles. He examined his palm, pleased with the limited amount of coloration. It signified an improvement in his balance. Balance and peace when physically employed made a work of art out of the binding of body and soul. Tomorrow he would add another minute to his now forty-six minute meditation session. Tomorrow he would not be interrupted. He sighed, the only physical sign of his current state of agitation. A great improvement from an hour ago.

"Pimerand."

The voice echoed in the supply room. It was broadcast throughout the entire east wing of level D. They had no idea where he was but had narrowed it down to this section. The informal use of his name from some doctor he was not familiar with was highly unacceptable. It sparked in his mind over the ashes of a fire he had just tamed. His left eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch.

"Pimerand, this is Professor Giles. This has gone on long enough. Show yourself or you will be gassed in five minutes. Can you hear my voice, Pimerand?"

Revolting. Willing to risk exposing the orderly to gas that would kill a normal human just to "punish" him. Was this another one of their games? A test? The fact that they had no sense of loyalty or respect for their coworker had reduced them to animals in his mind long ago. Ironic since they considered him an animal. His breath quickened..

The thought touched the coiled beast...

He had no desire for his mind to go there again, it had taken his entire forty-five minute meditation set to convince it to return to the depths of his mind. He both loved and hated the beast. His most inspiring works had been born in it's wake, but the collateral chaos he found extremely shameful. Death should be savored. Ceremoniously conclusion to the life that was, not snuffed out haphazardly. That was sacrilege in Pim's mind, a blatant disregard of the labors of its creation.

"If you answer now-"

"Come and find me. There's nothing stopping you." Accept fear of him and maybe the four foot spears of ice skewered through the man not two feet away from him.

Pimerand's voice was soft, calm, patient, a smooth baritone rippling over the intercom system. The meditation had done him well, but his voice was no indication of his level of anger. The previous three handlers assigned to guard him learned that the hard way. It brought a smile to his face. Something he usually reserved for Maddy, but then this was for Maddy, all of it. And it was completely they're fault for allowing such a barbarian near his precious Madeline. His gaze shifted to his panting guest. Appendages splayed by matching spears rising from the wall into his flesh. He had tried to get away so the display had to be changed on the fly, from representational to abstract. The skewed angle of his right leg was a surprise that worked to his benefit, added a flair to the work that he never expected. The breathing was aggravating, though.

Pim was pleased the man was still clinging to life. Honoring the death rite by a slow remorseful and hopefully reflective decent into the pits of hell. No one who pulled Maddy's hair would ever pass the pearly gates. His gaze glided to him, reminded of his presence by the disgusting gurgling sounds he made in efforts to breathe. It was pointless. He was marked to die. How else would he complete the work?

"One minute, Pimerand."

"My name.... is Pimerand Viramontez. When I find you, Professor... You will be my next masterpiece."

He lifted his chin, a slight movement, barely noticeable and a fifth spike ripped through the mans face, balancing the work by piercing the base of the skull and exiting through the left eye socket. "Perfect."

The temperature plummeted triggering an alarm.

~~~~~~~~

It was four hours later that they finally found and sedated him, stopping his second rampage of the day. The system was in overload trying to compensate and counter the near frozen temperatures generated by Pim's rampage. The south and east wings were now condemned due to structural damage. Three guards and two orderlies, were dead, six were injured and Professor Nathan Giles was missing and presumed dead.

"Increase his dosage for the week, but leave him sedated for forty-eight hours. This is unacceptable. We keep going through staff like this and our funding will be severely in jeopardy. Get it together! This project is way to valuable to fail because of your fucking mistakes, Jameson!"

[TruthSayer]

Madeleine didn't remember when they put her back in her room, but when she awoke it was wrapped in the comfort of her warm bed, all soft pillows and deep red feather duvet. The sky blue canopy helped block the harsh white light that came from the panel covering the high ceiling, but did little to detour the light that came from three of her four walls.

Madeleine pouted, unsure of what she hated more: the light that had surrounded her like a cruel, unbreakable womb all her life, or the darkness when it wasn't there. She tilted her head to the side, listening to the gentle crinkle of the down pillows cradling her head. Hundreds of porcelain dolls in their frilly dresses and little Mary Jane shoes gazed sightlessly at themselves in the mirror that made up the fourth wall, all white-painted skin and glass eyes and pretty real little girl hair that curled, black and long, just like Madeleine's did. They were beautiful, just as she was beautiful, and they were Madeleine's favorite things, far more so than the stupid books and Faberge music boxes with their tinkling, tinny little songs and unicorns stuck through their pretty little bellies with golden skewers that lined the heavy dark wooden shelves against the walls.

She sat slowly, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to stop the pounding behind them, but was unable to do so. The constant light hurt her head, and every time she was returned from the room with the white people, the headaches were always worse. Her mouth would be dry, and her arms would ache where she had made them beautiful with the bristles of her brush, wrapped in white gauze, or sometimes cute little band-aids with little kittens on them, a cruel joke; Madeleine hated kittens.

The white people had bathed her. She could smell the delicate scent of flowery soap on her skin, on her hair, soft and flowing down her back. Pretty, but not beautiful. Only when Madeleine brushed it, or when the woman who came to see her sometimes brushed it was it beautiful. She climbed out of bed, bare toes lifting away from the coldness of the floor and the hateful light that shone from it. No shadows in her room, not even in the drawers of her dark wood dresser; the white people had fixed lights there, too, and Madeleine couldn't claw them out no matter how hard she tried.

She went to her dresser and opened the top drawer where she kept the bows and barrettes and brush for her hair, wanting to make her pretty hair beautiful, but her brush was not there. Her eyes flew wide, her teeth gnashing as she dug through the contents of the drawer, attempted to dig through it as splinters caught the delicate flesh of her fingers and made them bleed, made them ache sharply. She tried to rip the drawer from the dresser, but it was bolted in, and would only come out so far. She opened other drawers, spewing their contents around her room, all over the floor until the light that shone from beneath it was blocked out. She dug through her dolls, throwing them to the side, cracking the faces of some, breath coming in panting heaves that made the light shining around her glow brighter.

Hateful light, and hateful dark, and hateful white people that would take her brush! Her brush! [/i]Her brush![/i]

"MY BRUSH!"

"Your brush has been taken from you, Madeleine. You will not get it back." a voice said, echoing from every surface in the room, flat and uncaring.

"MINE! IT'S MINE!" Madeleine screamed, throwing herself at the walls, kicking them, hitting them, scratching at them. "GIVE IT BACK!"

But the voice didn't come again. Clawing bloody fingers tangled themselves in her hair, yanking viciously as she stomped through slivery pieces of porcelain that scraped against the bottom of her feet, breath coming so fast and painfully that the light that surrounded her congealed into something liquid solid, leaving the walls to seep into her flesh, a fiery burn. She clawed at her skin where it burned the most, right over the furious pounding of her heart.

"FUCK! MOTHER FUCKER! LITTLE COCK SUCKER! MINE! MINE! MIIIIINNNNEEEE!!!!" The light within solidified over her heart, a mass that made it hard to breathe, hard to see past its brilliance, brighter than the sun and colder than the farthest reaches of space, painful, burning, agonizing. It pulsed once within her, so powerful she heard it when it did, and burst outward, slamming into everything around her, shattering her beautiful dolls and knocking pretty Faberge music boxes and ugly books to the ground, sending her beautiful dresses that she had pulled from her dresser flying, leaving her in the epicenter of a blast so powerful it shook the entire base like an earthquake.

The dark that descended was immediate, and frighteningly black, and Madeleine screamed.

[Tammika]

Patricia Jameson slammed her glass down on the desk hard enough for the remaining liquid to splash a few droplets onto the paperwork piled up there. The nerve of him blaming the entire fiasco on her, when it was that stupid doctor Giles and the new orderly's fault for purposefully riling Viramontez to begin with. "Observation my ass.." she mumbled to no one in particular as she stood, jerking into her white jacket so roughly she almost ripped a seam. It was part of a weekly routine since the sadistic man arrived. Driving Viramontez to the breaking point, just to see the extent of the medications effectiveness in 'extreme situations' It's bad enough half the drugs and the way they are administered make the subjects more imbalanced than their initial psychosis.

Pat stepped to the door, then thought for a moment, opting to remove her coat and hang it on the hook just behind it, before exiting the room, brown box tucked under her arm. Madeleine seemed adverse to the coat, that much she had narrowed down, and unlike the rest of the physicians she did everything she could to be seen as a slightly more than neutral party, which in the child's eyes could nearly make her a goddess if she took it too far. That was not what she wanted, her goal was a connection, yes a strong one but not a competition with Viramontez, then all would be in vain if for a second she appeared to be coming in between them. No mind games, these people were screwed in the head enough already. It made her stomach churn just to pretend to be a part of any of this madness called a hospital. Just a few days more. Then all her hard work and patience would pay off.

The halls were a blur, such a routine it was walking to the lower level she hardly paid attention to which guard was on duty at what security point, but a small tremor made her pause for a moment, alarm flashing in her eyes. The rooms were specially designed, so if a tremor had reached her Madeleine's most recent fit was on the extreme end of her reactions. What had they done to the child now? She flashed her ID on reflex, needing very little explanation for seeing Madeleine simply because of her status as assistant to the director. Lame titles for the band of highly educated thugs that ran this hell hole. One such 'thug' approached her having just left the observation room connected to Madeleine's.

"First Pimerand now Madeleine, Pat? Haven't you done enough today?" The smirk on his face blurred in her vision for a moment, but she quickly gained control over her anger.

"Go to hell, Harris. I don't need that from you of all people." She leveled a gaze at him that would part the ocean, not bothering to hear the rest of his accusations. There wasn't time for this. Keep it together, Pat. All in good time..

"The box Pat. What's in it? Even you can't go in there without that being checked."

She gave him a smirk of her own as she lifted the lid revealing a large doll, piles of lace and ribbon decorating the Victorian style dress. "Satisfied or would you like to do a cavity search on a doll? I know how much you like it. Probably all the action you get huh, doctor?" Pat slid the lid shut, grin widening at the tinge of angry color rising in his face.

The door was opened to Madeleine's room and she was met with utter chaos. Setting the box on the floor beside her she scanned the room for signs of the child, worried for her, but frightened to invade her space without her knowing. She had worked too hard the past year.

"...Madeleine? It's me, Patricia. Where are yo-" She honed in on the girl at once. The crumpled body of Madeleine lay at such an odd angle, Pat thought for sure the child was dead at first, panic rising in her throat.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patricia had managed to get the child treated and bandaged up without much interference. She stressed the need to be with her when she woke. All reluctantly agreed that would be best, though she knew they had gather enough information to feed them for days, so she was 'useless' for the time being.

The room had been righted, as much as could be done on such short notice. Most of her things were ruined and hurriedly replaced, but not nearly the volume as was before the ..incident. The doll would come in very handy she hoped. She sat by her bed waiting for her to open her eyes. If it wasn't for the cameras she knew were everywhere she would have dosed off.

[TruthSayer]

Thick black lashes fluttered delicately over rosy cheeks as Madeleine opened her eyes, blinking without recognition a the gossamer yellow canvass above. She yawned, deep blue eyes crinkling nearly shut, balled little hands raising straight up into the air as she stretched, wincing immediately. A little cry escaped her as pain broke out of every cell in her body, a terrible thing that undulated in waves from her head to her toes, ricocheting off her heart as it traveled back up to slam into her mind. Her hands clawed at the sides of her head, eyes screwing shut as she moaned loudly, little white lights breaking out of the darkness her closed eyes brought. She moaned again, body shivering as though freezing, though sweat broke out on her forehead.

She hated pain. She was terrified of it, a vast black thing she'd known all her life as she'd known the brightness, and it held her close now, unrelenting with its grasp. It made her want to scream, made her want to vomit. She dragged her hands over her skull, nails biting into the flesh at the back of her neck, small droplets of blood welling in the angry red welts they left behind. She breathed heavily through her teeth, lips wet with spittle. Only once had she felt this way before. Only once had her head pounded so, and her body agonized so.

She rolled onto her side, clawed hands running down her body to grip at her gut, eyes fluttering open and shifting wildly from side-to-side. For a long moment, she did not see the woman sitting next to her bed, but when her friend second only to her precious Pimerand came into blurry focus, she moaned again, climbing out from beneath the duvet to crawl into her lap, fingers wrapping tight around the blouse she wore as thick tears soaked into it.

Patricia was not a white person. She wore no white coat, no white mask, or white gloves, pants, or shoes. Patricia brought gifts, and brushed her hair, making it shining beautiful, telling Madeleine that she was beautiful, too, and Madeleine loved those that told the truth.

"Pa-Patric-a," she whimpered, face screwing up as she pressed her nose into Patricia's neck. "It hu-urts..."

--

The Genesis Project's five directors sat at the large oval mahogany table, each with a manila envelope before them, three more closed and stacked neatly at their right hands, all as thick as the pack of Pall Mall cigarettes Dr. Gilner tapped idly with the end of her pen as she listened to the day's report.

"The targets subjects F4859Z2 and UY9042K were ordered to silence have been done so successfully," Dr. Bryson reported, his voice a dull monotone that matched the dull expression on his face. "I have some concern that has been brought before me about certain... activities... that took place on the transport back to base, however."

Dr. Shobah nodded, the glasses she wore reflecting the light from above, concealing the severe gray of her eyes. "We have reason to believe that sexual activities have taken place between them," she said.

Dr. Welburg, sitting at the narrowest end of the oval, sighed, chin dropping to rest in his shriveled, aged hand. "Is there proof?"

Shobah nodded, picking up a small black remote and pointing it at the far wall as she clicked a button. A screen dropped from the ceiling, longer than it was wide, and though nothing but a black picture appeared, the voices that registered through speakers set into the ceiling left little doubt.

Welburg sighed again. "Deal with the guards," he said, his voice like rock scraping against rock. "Subject F4859Z2's sterility drugs are up-to-date?" Receiving nods from his colleagues, he continued. "This cannot go unanswered."

"We are in the process of answering it," Bryson confirmed. "I will have the plans to you tomorrow, and, with your permission, we will begin."

Welburg nodded, turning deep brown eyes to Dr. Lutz. "And subject P89932V?"

Lutz bowed his head, hands clasped loosely before him. "The experiment went as predicted. One orderly dead."

"This, too, cannot go unanswered," Welburg said, sharing a small smile with his oldest friend. Though the orderly was given permission to provoke the subject in such a manner as to push him beyond his reserves, Pimerand Viramontez must learn that he was allowed to kill only those whom The Genesis Project dictated he kill.

"Now, Dr. Gilner," Welburg turned to her, a fond smile stretching the concave wrinkles around his mouth. "Our littlest subject?"

"I believe we have enough information gathered to further training," Gilner said, pausing to take a long drag off her cigarette. She blew the smoke outward, purposefully aiming it at the man sitting across from her, giving no other evidence than the twitch at the very corner of her mouth that Shobah's hand waving in front of his face to clear the smoke amused her. "She showed remarkable power today that I believe we must exploit before it goes dormant again."

"Agreed," Melburg said, head bowing once in acquiescence. "Have your plans to me tomorrow."

Gilner answered with a nod, blowing another puff of smoke in Shobah's face.

[Tammika]

Patricia winced with her as she watched the pain take the girl by surprise. Cameras be damned she gently wrapped her arms around the child in a very motherly fashion, cooing and shushing the whimpers that tore at her heart. Patricia struggled. Through the entire process of cleaning p the mess and tending to Madeleine's wounds she had manged to remain under control, but having the delicate child clinging to her and sobbing made her furious and she risked her own temper setting off the alarms in the room meant for the child. That would not do. She had worked hard to conceal her own.. talents. Talents so powerful it took a lot to hide them from her 'coworkers' and a certain patient, she feared he suspected. He was very perceptive.

"Madeleine, I'm so sorry you hurt. Are you too tired? I can just brush your hair if you like." She leaned closer whispering in the delicate child's ear. "I snuck a brush in with me. It's under the gift I brought for you." Patricia wasn't sure if anything was registering, and frankly she was happy cradling her and rocking her back to sleep if she chose to. Very soon she could walk right out of here with her. it seemed like it was taking for ever, but the day was fast approaching.

[TruthSayer]

Madeleine whimpered softly, face buried in Patricia's neck, fingers tangling with rare gentility into the woman's hair as she pet it. It was soft, almost as soft as Madeleine's, and the woman smelled pretty, too, like the flowers Michael hated.

"Can I see Pim?" she asked softly, lifting her head to look at Patricia with large eyes that swam with tears. She wanted to see Pim. Wanted to hug him and have her hold him, make her feel safe even though she was never safe from the white people; they had pulled her away from Pim before. But Pim was warm and strong, and while he held her tight against him, the white people did not exist. "Please?" she asked, and kissed Patricia's cheek as she wound her arms around the woman's neck. "I want to see Pim. You can keep your present and brush if I can see Pim."

---

Michael opened his eyes, the confines of his room perfectly visible to him through the pulses of movement around him although no light shone from above. Air from the ventilation stirred everything, all of the fabric Michael had hung from the ceiling high above him long ago to help him see, sending out spurts of color over everything they brushed, defining the few objects Michael kept. A small bed in the corner, a desk along the opposite wall in which he kept his theological books in braille and the few changes of clothes he needed. The only other object in the room, beneath the window through which the scientists watched him, was the alter in front of which he knelt.

The cross upon it, making up its centerpiece, was large and simple, with only the Christ upon it spread out as an offering to mankind with a crown of thorns upon His head and nails through His hands and feet. He hung naked there, without the cloth around His middle that prudish old women preferred. Around it were unlit candles, as black as the rest of his room, all having never been lit aside from one.

Normally, he would light that candle for Elise, pray for her soul, her purity, her abdication that she might become as pure as he, but tonight, there was no need. The marks on her flesh proved that. The words of her own mouth as she prayed to the Holy Mother proved that.

The thought made him hard.

And angry.

His hands clenched as he lifted his head from his prayer, little demons playing around him, playing around the cross, sitting on the shoulders of the Christ as they cooed at him, flicked their barbed tongues at him.

He had not been happy when he awoke to find Elise gone and himself in his prison. He had not been happy when he had opened his naked eyes to the blinding, painful light of a single candle burning upon the alter. He did not light that candle, and he would find out which of the stupid scientists had dared touch the sanctity of his alter to the Lord, and when he did...

His eyes slid closed again, his hands lifting toward heaven in supplication as he prayed for divine inspiration.