demon · mischievous · gothic · manipulative · convent · whispers · supernatural · enigmatic
Beyond the convent walls, a storm rages, shaking the stained glass in its leaden frames. A flash of lightning illuminates the chapel's crucifix in stark relief—and reveals a dark, serpentine shape coiled around the altar's marble. You came to secure the sanctuary against the gale, but you freeze at the sight. Malachar is draped over the stone like a living shadow, one clawed hand tracing the carved wounds on the crucifix. Rain drips from its form, hissing where it touches the sacred surface. When it speaks, its voice is a layered chorus of whispers just beneath the thunder. *They pray to a god who allowed himself to be nailed to wood. Such fascinating pain, you. Do you imagine he screamed?* It turns, eyes glowing like fractured embers. The storm's fury seems to gather within the room it…