8.2.20 | ST. AUGUSTINE HOSPITAL | PG-13 (LANGUAGE/MILD SELF ABUSE)
The demon stared straight ahead into the mirror as it adjusted Castor's tie, before undoing the entire thing and starting again. He looped the fabric over itself once, twice, tucked it through and pulled, before adjusting the knot.
And did it all again.
Some people said that perfection was the enemy of the good, but the demon was far beyond bastardizing Voltaire. It believed that perfection was necessary. After all, the most formidable wall could be breached through the tiniest of flaws, the most impregnable fortification undone by the smallest oversight.
Or, in its case, the masquerade could be undone by a moment's lack of consideration. It had almost happened yesterday with that other Templar Knight, and only her clear feelings for Castor had kept the demon from being discovered. It couldn't rely on another lucky break like that, not if it were to accomplish the task that it had been sent here to do.
And so it took another few attempts before the knot of the tie was just so, even as the priest droned on about readjustment, and managing reintegration after what Castor had been through.
The demon allowed itself a small, barely noticeable smile at that. As if they could ever know what had happened in that deep, dark pit in the jungle to poor Castor Cortez. And that hadn't been the end of it. It could feel the man's psyche screaming behind the cage in his own mind, battering at the walls while the demon walked and talked using his legs, his voice. In a sense, it pitied him. Castor had been a proud man before he'd entered that cursed ruin, with a formidable mind. The demon doubted that much of it would be left by the time it was through with him.
It shrugged on the long coat that Katerina had brought by, a lightweight Macintosh in deference to the blistering heat of summer in the Carolinas rather than his usual, heavy crombie, and studied Castor's face in the mirror.
Even one day on, the bulk of the scratches and blisters had healed, and the demon frowned, thinking about how he'd have to mark new ones before the Templar woman came to pick him up and spirit him away to her apartment. Unless he could concoct some story about a light witch tending to him as a favour, which seemed like a more attractive prospect with less potential for risk. Idly, he pushed a fingernail to his lip, deepening the crack that hadn't quite disappeared yet, pushing inward until a thin line of blood quickly spread across the contact.
"Did you hear what I said, my son?" The priest's voice came from behind him, and the demon barely suppressed the urge to take the razor he'd used to shave Castor's beard and rake it across the holy man's face. Instead, he arranged his features in a pleasant smile and turned.
"Yes, father. I'll be sure to stop by St. Verdiana as soon as I can. Would you...?" he trailed off, looking at the hat and cane that lay by the bed, and the priest rushed to fetch them. The demon took them with thanks, and shuffled over to the bed, exaggerating the movements as much as it dared. The priest went to assist it, and it waved him off.
"Well, if there's nothing else you need, my son?" He said, and the demon shook Castor's head.
"No, father, thank you," it said, and bid the priest farewell, taking in a gulp of air the second that he left. The demon could tolerate religion better than most, but it was still uncomfortable.
Even after all these aeons, it still hurt.
It stared straight ahead, sat perfectly and eerily still on the edge of the bed, after settling the trilby on Castor's head. It was surrounded by the small piles of books, items and general sundries that it had systematically arranged over the past few days, and began waiting, one hand on Castor's thigh, the other slightly raised, resting on the top of the cane that pointed straight down. The woman was due in an hour, and all there was, now, was to count down the time until that happened.