To call this nightmarish wouldn't do it justice. It was a scene straight from hell, thought Hillie has she watched Father Daniel, ejaculate his life blood over her foot again and again, his cock destroyed from his efforts, the tip grotesquely swollen and looking like raw meat. His face had begun to turn purple as he fucked the monster's cock with his throat, tears of blood running down his contorted face, his eyes rolled upward in a rictus of terminal pleasure. She looked away and at her self, seeing her smeared breasts, the whiteness innocent of the sun now lined with dark, almost black veins, her breasts thicker and bigger than even in her youth, lactating this strange mix of milk and blood, her clothes soaked, skin smeared and somehow she began to feel herself recede. Hillie felt so tired, she just wanted to close her eyes, let herself be taken until she was no more, she was feeling herself slip away, but she forced herself to look at Pelle and saw no green left in those eyes. They were black and his teeth looked sharper and he was bigger. As he stood up, an oily blackness began roiling around the room as Father Daniels' corpse slid off the cock and hit the tiled floor with a harsh crack, his mouth so open it looked dislocated, the neck was distended and blackened. She cried out with horror, poor Daniel, he hadn't been perfect but he hadn't deserved this.<br/><br/>"You are<i>not</i>Love," rasped Hillie, who found speech difficult, "I will find your<i>true</i>name demon..." she wheezed, feeling weak from the lust, the loss of blood. She had to get away but found it hard to leave the chair, and she looked into Pelle's face.<br/><br/>Pelle's lips dripped blood, as did his sharpened teeth and it smiled as it moved her panties aside and inserted two fingers inside her, expertly curling them to elicit a response. And response it got, as Hillie jerked and cried out, feeling herself clench around those digits and moving her hips forward, instinctively seeking more. Her entire body shook with her need to feel more, she needed more, she needed more, more, more, more, more......... The room reeked of sex, of death, and life, it reeked of the beginning and the end, and coated her sinuses that she thought she'd never smell anything else again.<br/><br/>Images came to her as the demon toyed with her cunt, images sent he made her need release so deeply she lost control over her body and felt it running down her leg as she shook and moaned. A beautiful man, so gorgeous so virile was fucking women, men, his phallus so perfect she wanted it for herself. And when these men and women found release she felt it. Felt a memory if it. She rocked on the fingers and moaned, and then he sent her images of women in habits, the skirts raised around their waists lying dead with their legs splayed in pools of their own blood, their expressions identical. Expressions of utter bliss.<br/><br/>He sent her another image, the young daughter of the merchant, dead in a bathtub filled with dark red water. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it<b><i>STOP</i></b>!"  wailed Hildegard even as a third, blissful finger found it's way into her and another teasing her other hole. But her movements gave lie to her words, and she panted, heart hammering, and didn't leave the chair she was slumped in. Instead her hips pushed forward.