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“Rise, Oh Foul One! Rise and hear, and complete the bidding of us for we give you this virgin innocent blood to feed!”
Trish cried to the sound of chanting as it grew distant and pain overtook what focus of hers remained. It’s been a long time since her cries for her mother’s comfort dilapidated into whimpers of pain.
The thing who wore her father’s face - for it could not be her father truly - rises hands above his head. What father brings a child as a sacrificial lamb and cuts their stomach open? What father leads a choir as the child flails in futility, pleading for life, as he creates a portal to hellish kingdoms?
The figure above her, the offending knife still covered in blood and in his hands, grows blurry.
When Trish opens her eyes again a beautiful blue is the first thing she takes notice of. A color which makes her think of her mother’s eyes. Perhaps Trish had been taken by angels already, perhaps her body was left to crumble to dust before the demons could take her…
Then horror bleeds into her weak, small limbs. Her voice too frail to scream in terror, staring at the figure crouched above her on the unholy altar.
Her weakened sounds, whatever they were meant to be, are shushed and she feels the slight scrape of needle-like nails as her face is caressed.
“Shush little one,” a voice that is gentle, yet booming in the haunted hall echoes off the walls. “Be not afraid. Your suffering is at an end.”
So he said.
And so it was.
The child felt no more agony in her stomach.
The demon got off the altar, with the grace of a feline creature, and Trish, despite being bound, lifted her head to see the blood retreat into the cavity created by the knife. The wound closes and heals.
“Oh, Foul One!” Calls out one of the acolytes. “Listen to us, do what we command, for we brought you this sacrifice.”
“You’ve given me nothing but grief and rage.”
“What?” Came a shocked gasp.
Trish felt her face dry of tears and her wrists and ankles, although bruised, no longer bound. Dazed, she sat upon the cold stone, now free of her fresh crimson blood again. She looked to the congregation of men mortified as a demon towered them all.
An air of cold and the smell of seawater permeated the air as the cloven hooves struck the tile, cracking it.
“You were not the one bleeding upon the altar. The girl of twelve summers was. You command no one but yourselves, and for misusing that, I shall punish you.” The creature stalked towards the thing that wore Trish’s father’s face. Its green eyes blazed in anger and confusion.
“But- but the texts!”
“Had it been anyone else, you may have succeeded, but I am not like most.” Said the demon as Trish’s vision cleared. He seemed to absorb all the light around him, but was clear as day in his monstrosity. “I take less joy in sin and more joy in punishment.”
The carnage that followed had been almost as horrific as all the things Trish had witnessed in the last eight days. She could not look away, but she was conflicted rather than outright scared. However, in the end, it had been naught but a conclusion to the sorry story of her life.
The demon covered in blood and tossing bits of organs and limbs to the floor turned to Trish. In the mess after the bloodbath, Trish could not discern the remains of the thing that wore her father’s face, but she knew each and everyone present besides her would not see the rising sun.
“I will not harm you, child.” There was none of the anger or bloodlust addressed to Trish from when he addressed the crowd of cultists.
“I know.” Trish answered and it was honest. “But you were wrong. My suffering will never end.”
“Why?” He queried taking the knee.
“I am alone. I am not fit to care for myself. Try as I might, I will not survive long.” Trish remembered her mother barely tying ends. Trish was much less capable than her mother had been.
“...it’s still your blood that has summoned me. You can wish for anything and I will grant it if it’s within my power.”
It’s both hopeless and hopeful, for the girl in that moment.
She held back tears, sighing before she spoke. “I wish for my mother back. They burned her inside our home while she was ill and sleeping, and they justified it by calling her a witch. They said they were taking me to purify me of her sins.” Trish confessed, sobs wringing out of her chest. “Can you?”
The demon remains silent for a while, as if contemplating how to comfort the girl. “Your mother was truly innocent, so she does not reside where I can reach her.” His eyes are large and blue and Trish feels the radiating cold soothe the scorching grief in her soul, if just by a little. “If you wish for a family, however, I can give it to you.”
“How?” Trish asks, suspicious.
“You will become my family and I will become yours.”
Fear and disgust crawl up her spine, memories of old fairy tales haunting her. “...like a bride?”
“Goodness no!” The demon recoiled, eyes wide and stepping a distance as if afraid of Trish. “I have a spouse and you’re a child!”
Trish relaxed, felt even a twinge of smile. “Like a daughter?”
He nodded, regaining composure and he seemed… silly at that moment. Friendly. “I will care for you like a father, and you will grow as my daughter. When you become a woman, you will leave to fend for yourself in the world, and I shall hope to not see you enter hell when your time comes.”
“I… I would like that.” She answered. It seemed to be the best option she had.
The demon stepped closer to the stone altar. “What is your name?”
“Trish. What is yours?”
“Bruno.”
She blinked in surprise. “Just like that?”
Bruno laughed, “It’s what my spouse calls me, and so I take it as my name. It’s simple, it’s human. I enjoy it.”
“I can’t walk…”
“I will carry you.”
“But can’t you fix them like you fixed…?” She began to inquire, but her hands landed on her stomach to see a scar colored black. Trish watched the mark with shock.
“I cannot. A portal is something else than a broken appendage.”
“Oh… Alright.”
And so the demon - Bruno - picked up Trish to carry her through the disorderly church. Trish chose to close her eyes upon the cooling bodies. Her innocence had been taken from her, but her childhood was not over yet.