Work Text:
The demon wore the face of Father David’s son perfectly. From the lips pressed tightly together to stop them quivering in front of his papa, to the pale blue eyes, widened in terror and misted over with tears Father David’s son was never able to hold this long. He knew it all to be lies, a veneer of innocence to stay the hand that held the iron cross. A cross Father David hadn’t dared to consider picking up until he was sure of the demon’s presence.
“Please don’t do this,” it wailed, struggling against the chains, puppeting his son’s voice, as if Father David hadn’t heard its ancient growl as it whispered over bone circles in the backyard, “Please, Papa!”
Disgust and fury knotted themselves in Father David’s stomach.
His boy was gone.
He refused to let this demon wear his face any longer, nor let the death of his soul go unavenged.