The monster felt her haughty defiance and ate it. It was a perfect vintage, wiser than Pelle's innocent soul, but still naive compared to someone who'd lived a gritter life, closer to the dismay of the world. She thought she'd suffered, all of the god-children did, but the great hand from their lord, even for the ones that didn't truly believe, cushioned their plight like all madness does for its host. It is a softer life, the one under belief's parasol, even if they like to say they carried troubles for their faith.<br/><br/>"I will tell you then, what my father called me." he said, and his black eyes with snaking veins widened in a strangely engaged mockery of a casual expression, signifying he was joking, or excited, or both. She said her answer in the bursting call when his fingers found her place. She'd had lovers that did the same for her, but his aim was surgical, and only slipped from the true spot when he meant to. Little frustrations also add to satisfaction, in the end.<br/><br/>Her hips weren't lying when they danced to his rhythm. This was why lust was his sin. It was primal and honest. It was life itself. All the while he let her see some of his history, blinding her from the room he'd impregnated, too. As she saw a particularly wanton man - family man who'd prayed to the demon for release - take the demon's raging flesh into his only hole, Pelle stuck a finger in her tight pucker. She'd feel the pleasure radiating out from there like battery legs put sparks in water.<br/><br/>She begged him to halt what he was doing, five times she called for it, but all of them were untrue. He knew that, and he'd long since started reading addiction in rejection. Pelle's pink tongue licked the black blood off his supple lips and moved in closer as his fingernails opened up like little maws off his fingers inside her, and reached out, also with pink tongues, to go deeper into her life-chamber and her filthy tunnels.<br/><br/>She would be shown a story, first in colors she wouldn't know, that would burn the eyes of her mind, but the demon muted it, so she could still see figures at the very edge of perception of beauty. The demons she knew were simply corrupted by real demons. Daniel wouldn't have stood a chance. And those demons were fallen angels, as the story went. God itself was consulted about these bastards, and made an angel class to deal with them. In truth, if she thought about it, there should have been epidemics of possessed, more than her aging, flaking church could have combated alone.<br/><br/>Hillie would see a group of wondrous, sexless creatures, some of them with wings, and some of them with bone pipes on their backs. They were created to take back or obliterate the fallen. And the one she was shown, the one her focus was directed to, had magenta hair and black eyes. It was the most hopeful of the troop, because it had been entrusted with the greatest weapon in this narrative. Love. Because if the fallen are evil, then Heaven should fight it with love.<br/><br/>But love weaponized looks different than Amor or Aphrodite. It was made to betray its own heart, by loving his fallen kin to extinction. And so Hillie would see, through the millennia, how this angel consumed its darkened, and favored the gender male because all fouling things do. It would seem she was witnessing the founder of the lust, as it was, today. He was proud, and pulled his fingers, and then the tendril tongues out of both her holes.<br/><br/>Kindhearted Hildegard, Marie, who loved her nephew, and forgave Daniel for his plights, when the father couldn't even forgive himself. She who'd lived like Mary was described to have lived, before the lord's son. And just like that altered legend, Marie had gone to the house of white bricks and colored windows. She was a good enough metaphor. She was good enough to eat.<br/><br/>He didn't hesitate to stab her with the limb neither Pelle nor Daniel had felt inside. Sylvia had tried, she'd loved her son wrongfully, but her womb hadn't been tested. She was broken in the bed she'd bought for her son five years ago, with elation on her face. The introduction of the once-holy flesh into Marie's mortal cave would be nothing less than bliss and hellfire. She'd grown up for this. Meeting an angel is nothing short of destiny, and it gives the human an immeasurable sense of purpose. Every creature's greatest compliment is at the end of an angel's cock.<br/><br/>He hooked his fingers into her mouth next, and the tongues form the tips slithered into her throat and coiled in her skill, dancing with her gray matter and invading her eyes. He was a marauder in her body. Her soul was the surface of a star, thanks to him. "My name if Krets." he said as he fucked her to break her out of her earthly bonds, to thank her for being the vessel for his birth.<br/><br/>If she spoke his name, would it be in command, and drawing upon the father he'd diverged from, or would it be in adoration, which would accept him into her body, and make her a mother in the same caliber as their maker.