[M] In Excelsis Deo [Ashen & Hannelorian]

[Ashen]

Sam followed Genevieve out of her house to meet with the neighbors, and when they reached their destination, he drew a small breath and tried to straighten his clothes. He had seen Genevieve’s neighbors before, but this felt different. He wanted to make a good impression, wanted to show them that he could be trusted, and he needed to look the part. Sam didn’t have much time to think about what he would say or do before the door was swinging open and an exhausted-looking woman was greeting them.

Elizabeth Parker. Sam filed the name into his memory and greeted her with a warm smile a handshake, and a polite, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker.” He took note of the way Genevieve acted around her, as if the two had known each other their whole lives. Maybe they had. Sam was quick to correct Genevieve when she tried to give him full credit for the soup. “She grew the vegetables,” he cut in, “and helped me harvest them, and even taught me how to cook.” He followed the women inside the house.

It was weird in here. Even beyond the smell, gross and rancid and far from healthy, there was a strangeness in the air that felt thicker the further into the house Sam got. He shifted his weight, palms growing itchy with sweat, before shaking his head and letting out a steady breath. If he really wanted to do this, help people, help the sick, then he needed to not let himself get queasy. Reminding himself of why he was here, Sam nodded and thanked Mrs. Parker before cautiously following Genevieve to the owners of the home.

He could tell which room the couple was in long before the door was opened. The air was bad in here, to say nothing of the wretched smell or the sounds of painful, gasping breaths. Sam tensed again, but he sucked in a breath and tried on a new smile. When he walked inside and got a proper look at the people in the bed, he felt acid clamor up his throat, and he swallowed it down forcefully.

Sam barely heard Genevieve’s blasphemous exclamation; he was so focused on these people, or perhaps corpses, tucked miserably into their bed. They were so fragile, so thin and decayed, and Sam too cursed the god who could do this to anyone before instinctively mentally apologizing. He glanced over at Genevieve to share a look of horror, but she didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by this scene. Was it possible she was so used to this already? Or was there something else muting her response? Sam felt awful for thinking so, but he continued to watch her, trying to guess at her motivations for being here. He had thought they had had the same selfless idea, but now… Sam wasn’t so sure.

When Genevieve called to him, Sam snapped out of his stupor and walked to the woman lying in bed. “Hi,” he said, his voice clear but gentle. He wasn’t even sure if the woman could hear him, but he thought it important to speak to her anyway. “My name is Sam, and I’ll be staying with Genevieve for a little while, so that makes us neighbors. It’s nice to meet you.” He smiled, even though the woman’s eyes were pinched shut and she couldn’t see him. Sam peeled the sheets off of her and hesitantly looked around the room. “Is there a clean blanket we can give them,” he mumbled, uncomfortable at the thought of digging through a stranger’s things. He turned back to the woman and shifted. What exactly was he supposed to do?

Sam guessed that caring for the sick was probably a lot easier for people who knew what it was like to be sick. He flitted by her bedside, cursing himself for his sudden paralysis. Sam shook his head. He took in his surroundings, the woman’s condition, and tried to go from there. She was shaking, and when he put a hand to her face, she too was burning up. Sam noticed the window, and he walked over to open it. With any luck, that would get the stale air circulating, help relieve the rancid smell of the place, and maybe even help the couple breathe just a bit easier.

When he got back to her bedside, he noticed a half-empty bottle of lotion on the nightstand. “Do you mind if I put this on you?” he asked, grabbing for it. The woman didn’t respond, of course, but Sam opened the bottle anyway. The lotion smelt vaguely floral, and as he massaged it into her hands, he tried not to wince at how deep the cracks in her fingers were. To Genevieve, he asked in a light voice, “How long have they been like this? What’s causing it?”

[Hannelorian]

Genevieve heard the request for a clean blanket and quietly left the room only to appear a few moments later with a clean blanket in hand. Carefully and with Sam's assistance the two would discard the soiled one and replace it with the one she had just brought into the room. As Sam had noted Genevieve did not seem particularly distressed or indeed affected at all by the condition the couple were in, nor by the smell of things. She was entirely indifferent, as though either hardened, or simply she was a brave soul. In reality, neither scenario was particularly true.

"It's been some weeks now. Three about." She answered the question rather calmly as she watched him massage the lotion into the deeply cracked hands, the skin too had grown thin, almost like paper. It was clear that these individuals were simply wasting away. "As for the cause... well, that too has been a controversial topic about town." Genevieve sighed and moved slowly to sit on the chest that lay at the end of the bed. She watched the dying couple without any particular sense of sympathy or compassion. Rather she viewed them as though this was inevitable.

"Some say it's the sleeping sickness. Many years ago it swept through the town, putting the infected to sleep where they wasted away until their deaths. Never waking again. And indeed it does appear that this what has happened." Another sigh escaped her lips as she shifted her gaze toward the open window and the light that was flooding through it. The fresh air was a relief, the morning breezes were cool and carried on them the scent of freshly cut grass and flowers from the assorted gardens of the neighborhood.

"Sort of like a plague, but it seems odd we only have two cases... and therein rises the more popular theory." Genevieve seemed to purse her lips for a few moments. "That the devil did it. A demon, something foul from the fires of hell." Seele ensured that Genevieve had no discernible reaction to this statement, it was simply as though she were relaying the facts as she knew them, pieces of idle gossip from around town.

"Can you imagine?" Genevieve shook her head and rose to a standing position. "I think the people are looking for something, anything to blame, and this gentleman here wasn't exactly well loved... but the devil? Demons? Even I think that's a step too far." She could have brought herself to giggle, and she almost did. But then again appearances were everything and for the moment it was in her best interest to simply exist. "What do you think? I suppose that surely if your kind exists... so do the others."

[Ashen]

Sam listened intently to Genevieve as she answered his questions and shared her theories. He was still unnerved by the level way she spoke, or the nonchalant way she glided about the room, like she didn’t even notice the death and suffering around her. Sam glanced between her and the dying couple, his teeth sinking into his lip. His gut had often led him astray in the past, but still. Something definitely felt off, and it was starting to make Sam uncomfortable.

The idea of a plague doing this kind of damage didn’t make much sense to Sam. Genevieve wouldn’t have willingly led him into a room of contagious people, and if they had gotten sick from the water, or food, or local animals, then surely other cases would have cropped up by now. He looked over the couple again. Their breaths were imperceptible, their bodies so frail, and their expressions were already of another world. Even if it was a natural sickness, what sort of god would let this happen to his beloved people? The blasphemous thought poked at the back of Sam’s head, angry and insistent and impossible to ignore.

Genevieve’s next theory caught her attention, and he startled, turning to her with arched brows. “Demons?” he repeated, trying to imagine it. What business would demons have in a place like this? Maybe that was a silly thought; Sam knew demons didn’t always follow his sort of logic. They got a kick out of torturing and harassing innocent people. He’d been told it was akin to the satisfied feeling angels got when they protected someone. Or, the feeling other angels got, Sam thought bitterly, since he had never quite fit in with his brethren. Could a demon really be using this sickness for their own selfish satisfaction?

He nodded solemnly. “Demons are real,” Sam asserted. “We’ve—that is, angels have been at war with them for a long, long time. Sure, it’s possible—“ And it would explain the suddenness of these conditions, or the unique, directed ways they manifested, or the suffering they caused. “—but I struggle to see why a demon would want to settle here. I don’t know what use a friendly town like this would be to them.” It was an unsettling thought, that one of his new neighbors could be someone other than who they seemed. Sam shivered. “Though,” he thought aloud, “maybe that’s why they’re here. Since this town is so unassuming, and peaceful, it could be an ideal place for a demon to corrupt.”

It was sickening. Sam wanted to have faith in his gods, in the angels, and know that they would not let a demon poison people like this, but the longer he looked at the couple in their deathbeds, the more uncertain he got. It wasn’t like god and his angels could have eyes everywhere, Sam reminded himself. Or, it was entirely possible that his god knew, and didn’t care, and had even sent Sam here deliberately to succumb to the last angel who had fallen from grace.

Sam glanced at Genevieve again. Her lack of reactions in this room, and the calm way she relayed gruesome, awful details… No, it was ridiculous. A demon wouldn’t have been as kind and generous to him as Genevieve had been. Sam scolded himself for suspecting her for even a moment. He turned back to the elderly woman in bed and wiped at the drool forming on her lip with a towel. He sighed. “I haven’t been here long enough to know for sure,” he said. “I used to be able to detect demon auras, but that was probably taken from me during my fall, so…” Sam hesitated. “I don’t know. But if it is a demon, I’d like to try to help banish it. I haven’t been here long, but even I can tell these people are too kind, and too good. They deserve better than…” His gaze found the couple again. “Than this.”

[Hannelorian]

Genevieve moved almost silently to a chair in the corner of the room and sat herself upon it, pulling her legs up and adjusting them to rest beneath her. For a few moments, perhaps a long few moments, she seemed to stare blankly at the couple in the bed, no visible emotion registering on her face. She was perfectly calm and placid, as though none of this troubled her in the slightest. Perhaps it was worth it to be more considerate of her outward appearance. The conversation on Demons, now that was interesting. The first few breadcrumbs had been cast onto the ground by the Demon herself, and yet... she was somehow irked by all of it. Bothered, unsettled.

"A town only looks unassuming." She finally lamented. "It's deceiving you know. Smiling faces." A deep and bemused sigh escaped her lips. "They lie." There was a shift in her tone, one of sadness perhaps. "Judgment, that is our gift from God. Everyone in this town has made a judgment on every other person. Decided who is worthy of help, who is not. Who do you say hello to? Who do you ignore? Violence needs not live out in the open, but rather behind the safety of closed doors. The friendly baker." Genevieve scoffed, in a very real way passing her own judgment. "He'll always ask after you, your family. He'll ask how the kids are doing in school. He remembers every name, every face." Genevieve adjusted herself in the chair a bit uncomfortably. "But did you know he cheats on his wife? Every Thursday."

The true faces of the people of the unassuming town were just like those anywhere else. "No demonic corruption or influence is required for such a misdeed. Lust, a deadly sin, is enough of a temptation." Now she finally rose from the seat and moved to stare out the window as the clouds had gathered and small drops of rain began to fall. "Do they deserve better than this? How can you know? How can you be so sure?" Genevieve cast her glance back at the couple in bed. "In his youth he killed someone They said it was an accident, but is it truly when you've been drinking? The ugly truth." Genevieve made no attempt to look at them again. There was no anger in her voice, no sense of sorrow or grief. She simply remained matter of fact.

"Is he worthy of survival? Or would the world be better off if he crept silently into the after life? What if the corruption is already here, and a Demon was simply drawn to it? Or what if there are no demons all, only people doing terrible things to other people. Where was God to protect any of them? To guide their consciences cleanly? Where was God when my husband died?" Genevieve sighed once again moved to the side of the bed, to stand above the woman with her shallow breathing. "Is death not a mercy?"

Genevieve's head cocked to the side like a curious animal and slowly she reached down and stroked the woman's hair. "Would it not be a welcome liberation? Or is the thought that her soul could be condemned to hell too much to bare?"

[Ashen]

Sam did not know where any of this was coming from. He listened closely to Genevieve’s rambling, all the while mentally sifting through her words to find an explanation behind them. She had been so kindhearted and optimistic before now, so he didn’t know why now she was talking about judgment and eternal damnation. Sam looked to the couple in their beds. Was it that being so near senseless violence, sickness, death was getting to Genevieve? He was selfish in asking her to join him here then.

He wasn’t naïve; Sam knew humans were filled with evil. He had watched sin run rampant through humanity, had been tasked with guarding against it. He had seen firsthand how his god tended to abandon those who fell victim to such wretched desires. But Sam wasn’t so sure he believed that those people were irredeemable. What sort of maker would allow something like sin and turn his back on those who allowed it to fester in their hearts, exactly according to his will?

The mention of the cheating, murderous baker made Sam grow still. Angels weren’t sexual beings, and they didn’t bother with things like romance either, so he had never really grasped the concept of cheating. He knew how the humans viewed it, though, and he pursed his lips in disapproval. He could not judge the man for the buried memory of his past, though. If he did, wasn’t Sam also saying that he deserved to be judged for what he had done to that child? His hands, too, were soaked with another’s blood. Sam was the last person who could aim those stones.

And, he decided, there was no need to. The Bible spoke of those who repented, criminals who made up the choirs of heaven. It might have been true that the baker was a bad man, and maybe he wasn’t capable of ever changing. But if other people decided that for him, how would he ever get the chance to prove them wrong?

Sam turned his attention to Genevieve again. Her nonchalance throughout this whole trip was unnerving, and he didn’t know how to address the cold-hearted things she was saying. She spoke again of her husband, and Sam decided to give her some grace. She had more stakes in this conversation than he had originally given her credit for.

“I still believe they deserve mercy.” Sam’s words were tentative, as if he was reaffirming his beliefs as he gave word to them. “That everyone deserves the space to change. Maybe this town needs to change its mindset and devote itself to not only helping victims but perpetrators as well. I want to believe even the most vile human beings can be good if someone believes in them.” Wasn’t Sam himself proof of that? He hadn’t been a man for very long, so it was too soon to say, but Genevieve had believed in him, and now he wanted to give that same gift to other people. To forgive. To show others that they didn’t have to do bad things, and that he was on their side.

Sam let out a long sigh. “This is a lot to talk about here,” he said quietly, motioning towards the couple in their beds. “I don’t want to decide if the world would be a better place without certain people. That’s too big an ask for any human. I want to believe bad people can be good.” He hesitated, wanting to reach out to comfort Genevieve, but something was stopping him. His own fear, perhaps of overstepping her boundaries, or maybe something else, something about the way she’d been acting today, talking, that made her speak her poisonous outlook on her little town. Sam tried to shake his doubts and straightened. In a voice that did not hint at his own discomfort, he asked, “Genevieve, are you alright?”

[Hannelorian]

Mercy. Did humanity deserve mercy? They had spent millennia fighting and squabbling, warring and loving and yet fundamentally the institution had remained unchanged. People were vile, hungry for power, cruel and deceitful. The notion that people could change, transform into something better if others simply believed in them made Genevieve sick. Her stomach in knots, he was still a scion of God, a true believer in faith, humanity and the good will of men persevering. Bad people could be good. It was in this moment that Genevieve truly realized the child like nature of the Angels. They were so innocent, so eager to believe and see the best in the world. To shepherd in peace and love.

"And yet for all of our faith and good will, God cast you out. All of your belief for nothing." Genevieve for the first time showed her disdain, her cruelty. The demon within was growing restless, tired of the show. "How many centuries have you lived? How much cruelty have you seen in the world and yet you persist in your belief that bad people can become good ones." Genevieve chuckled lightly and shook her head in disbelief. "Perhaps I am simply jaded. A victim of circumstance who has decided the world is beyond redemption." She shrugged her shoulders passively.

"You must forgive me. For I too have a darker side. But am I alright? Yes. I suppose I am." Genevieve relented with a sigh and moved to sit down in a chair. "It is hard to be so optimistic and hopeful when you have seen the horrors of the world. When you've experienced genuine evil, or at least what feels like that." Genevieve forced a smile on her face. "You are new, and shiny, and untainted. It is precious in so many ways." She struggled to find an explanation for her behavior short of the truth, short of her genuine distaste for humanity and all that it had on offer.

"I suppose I was trying to explain that not everything is at is seems. The world is deceiving sometimes, and it is better, for some, at least to know the truth of the situation they find themselves in. To better be prepared and assess the situation from an informed perspective." Another flash of a smile as she turned her gaze to the those in the bed, their breaths slowing down. "Perhaps I simply need to learn to be more merciful, more forgiving." The thought was genuine, despite her beliefs otherwise. Mercy wasn't entirely bad or unprincipled, it was simply another lens from which the world could be viewed.

"And now is the time for such... these moments are likely her last." Genevieve motioned toward the woman. "Stand close, hold her hand. Tell her it's okay to let go. Her suffering will be at an end." Or would it be? If she went to hell her soul would suffering for all eternity. Would God be waiting for her. "It is the last kindness you can do. And it is the hardest moment to endure." Genevieve had a deep sympathy in her voice and tone. Death was an end of one chapter. Something that could be so terribly sad.

[Ashen]

Sam wasn’t expecting such vicious admonishment from Genevieve, and as she spoke, he could only stand there, shocked, at the poison she was spitting. Yes, his god had cast him out, but for Genevieve to use that against him, just to prove that his optimism was stupid, pointless, hurt. He had never been the most pious angel, and he knew he made a bad example anyway, but he hadn’t even been talking about faith in god. Sam didn’t know if he had that anymore. He did, however, had faith in other people, or he wanted to, but it was hard when Genevieve was trying so hard to break him.

His gaze fell from her, and Sam drew a long breath, chewing on her words. He felt sorry for her. She sounded disenfranchised, exhausted, and Sam cursed the world, the people, the god that had led her on this path. But there was something different about her now that gave Sam pause. This was not the same person he had walked in with, he was sure, and it wasn’t just the sick and elderly patients that were blackening her heart. Her resentment ran too deep, and Sam wondered again if her bringing up demons was just a coincidence before he shook his head to dismiss the paranoia.

“You’re right,” he told her, because he was unable to argue against any of her points. Despite his two hundred years living as something else, Sam was newly a man, complete with the inexperience that rendered him a fool. He could talk about optimism all her wanted, but he hadn’t really known the ugly emotions of man firsthand until just a few days ago. What did he know of faith? Of deceit? Of mercy? He didn’t know a damn thing. But Sam didn’t see the point in self-pity over that. What good would feeling sorry for the world he’d been thrown into to? History was filled with the names of those who had believed in chance, and he wanted to follow those. Even if his life ended up as a waste, he wanted to devote himself to something, to bettering the world, to bettering the lives of the people around him.

Sam looked towards the couple again. The woman started coughing in her sleep, unable to catch her breath now. Sam walked to her and stroked her hand through it, but it wasn’t getting any better. Her coughs rattled her lungs, rasping noisily and painfully, and he knew as well as Genevieve did that there was no easy way out of this. Sam crouched beside the woman and spoke to her, assuring her, telling her about the forgotten loves she’d find in paradise and wishing her luck on her journey. When the woman finally fell silent, Sam only watched her, unflinching, as grief settled in his heart.

The elderly man was eerily still, and when Sam looked at him, he noticed his chest wasn’t moving, that his breaths had already stopped without either of them noticing. Just like that, the couple was dead, reunited in painless splendor and off to enjoy the peace of the afterlife. Sam held his breath, surprised at how deeply his heart ached for these strangers. “God bless you,” he whispered to the two of them, more habit than anything else, and even if he was sure his god didn’t want to hear him, he prayed that the two be delivered together to much brighter days.

The room was silent then. Sam didn’t know how to read Genevieve anymore, and he couldn’t guess at what she was feeling after the deaths of her neighbors. She seemed so calm about it, unnervingly so, and Sam decided to give her some space to grieve in her own way. He had a lot to think about already, and childishly, he didn’t want any more of Genevieve’s negativity right now, not until he could make sense of his emotions. He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly. “We should tell Mrs. Parker,” he mumbled. He passed another glance the couple’s way, taking in the people, the corpses, he hadn’t been in time to help. No, maybe that wasn’t true. Unconscious as they might have been, Sam liked to imagine they had known he was here, and that he wanted to help, and that they were smiling down on him already. He nodded to himself, strengthening his resolve. Because of him, they had not gone to their afterlives hungry. He hoped he could help his next patients pass even more peacefully.

[Hannelorian]

There was a sense of sadness and grief in the air was the two passed away. Genevieve ran her hand delicately down the woman's face, closing her eyes tenderly. She took a moment to take the woman's hands and fold them gently, and neatly, and crossing to the other side she repeated the acts for the man. Despite her harsh attitude on this day, it was clear that Genevieve was present in the moment and showed some degree of affection for those who had passed.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will in the house of the Lord forever.

Genevieve spoke this words slowly and clearly and with authority and compassion. It was an honest prayer. Even the Demons knew the text of the Bible. And some could even recite it all from memory. To know their enemy, or rather what their enemy was teaching humanity was considered a priority to some. And Seele knew just enough though it felt strange for her to have utter the words. It was the first time she had ever done so, and she was shaken to her core.

A part of her could not deny that she felt compelled by the words themselves. They carried such weight and power. Prayer itself was something so foreign to her and yet it felt oddly comforting. And somewhere inside of her there was a twinge of sadness for taking these people's lives for her own amusement or to make her own points. She could have saved them if she truly wanted to, but rather she chose to end them. To make them suffer all the way until their last beleaguered breath. She wanted them to suffer. But this... felt empty to her. It did provide the joy she had hoped for.

Was it because she had upset Sam? Who was now itching to leave the room and leave death behind him. She had given him the first real taste of who she truly was and somehow she regret it. He seemed almost too good for this world, despite his past sins, he wanted to be better, to do better. Was she worse for not wanting the same? But why? Why was she even questioning this or feeling this at all?

"Now... we can go." Genevieve hung in the doorway for a moment, giving one last look backward as though to say goodbye before she finally pulled herself away. Mrs. Parker was waiting there and from the look on her face she already knew.

"I felt it." She said softly with her mouth hanging open for a moment before she raised a hand to cover it. The old woman began to tear up and Genevieve without a moment's hesitation she moved to wrap her arms around the woman, holding her closely. "It's okay, they aren't suffering anymore. It's okay." She stroked the old woman's back and just held her there.

[Ashen]

Sam did not have anything to say to Mrs. Parker. He was an outsider, a stranger in this house, and there was nothing he could say or do that Genevieve was not already managing. The women shared their sympathies and their tears, and Sam didn’t miss the way Genevieve’s voice wavered as she offered her platitudes. He wanted to help her too, but the moment wasn’t right. There was nothing he could do. He didn’t know the townspeople well enough to know who to call to take care of the bodies, or start the preparations for the steps after that. Sam didn’t even know this town’s funeral customs. Even if they were similar in so many parts of the world, what did this town do differently, and how could he help without knowing? Just like that, Sam was useless again, and he absolutely hated this feeling.

There was still something he could do. Sam could be there as they were sent off. He didn’t want to return to the church, not after last time, when his heart had hammered with the memory of the things he’d been through, and the wrongness of his trespassing, but didn’t he owe it to these people to see that they had a proper funeral? He wanted to join in celebrating the lives he hadn’t known. So, Sam decided, he would go to their funeral, so long as he was welcome there. And he would not let his grief stop him from venturing to the next house, and treating the next neighbors afflicted with this wretched illness, and bringing even just a bit of kindness to this town that so desperately needed it.

Once Genevieve and Mrs. Parker were finished comforting each other, finally, it was time to go. Sam offered his own kind words to the older woman, offering his help if she could think of anything he could do. Then they were off, leaving behind this house of death and feeling so much heavier for it.

On the way back to Genevieve’s place, Sam’s mind was clouded by his dizzying emotions. There was grief there, sure, but he was also concerned about Genevieve, and Mrs. Parker. Without meaning to, he compared the expressions on the women’s faces. The same emotion could look a hundred ways on a hundred faces, Sam knew, and though he did not know exactly how they felt, or how to process them in healthy ways, he did know that Genevieve’s reaction still felt unshakably odd. Had it been his imagination, or had her exterior cracked, even the tiniest bit, after the couple had died? Not grief, no, but disappointment. Sam didn’t know what to make of that.

He had decided to give her space, but he couldn’t help but feel his thoughts nagging at him, practically begging him to ensure Genevieve wasn’t more upset by all this than she was letting on. He just wasn’t the type of person who could let someone go unhelped, even if he didn’t know how to help her.

“Hey, um,” Sam started, not sure how to navigate such a delicate conversation. “Are you doing okay?” Perhaps that was a stupid question, so he quickly followed up with, “I’m new to all of this, at least from a human’s angle, but I’m still here. If you want to talk about it or anything, I’ll listen.” He paused to look over his shoulder at the house that was no longer in sight. “I hope they’re better off now,” he said absently. Before, he would have believed wholeheartedly that those two souls were reunited with their maker and finally at peace, but not anymore. Sam had seen that maker’s ruthlessness, and he couldn’t claim to know his unknowable plan. Hope was all he had, now.

[Hannelorian]

Six Months Later

The intervening six months had proven fraught for Genevieve. Sam had rather successfully gained his independence and earned his place among the people of their small town. He offered comfort and hope where Genevieve once had. But for the Demon it was difficult. Her own internal struggles, confronted with such obvious and seemingly pure morality was too much. Genevieve had descended into the darkness where it cradled and comforted her. Restored her own faith in the world that was unseen. The world suffered at her hands and those of her compatriots. Suffering was comfort, and wherever Sam turned there was a natural easing of pain. Genevieve felt ill bearing witness to his good deeds.

Genevieve had largely retreated from public life, it was rare to see her out and about, though she could still be found tending her garden as the weather turned, until one day it would simply turn rotten. Everything had died, the first frost hadn't even set in. The vegetables turning black, oozing a foul smelling liquid akin to pus, the ground seemed devoid of all moisture, cracks appearing in the dirt, an infestation of all manner of insects coming to feed upon the remains of the once verdant space. Genevieve hardly seemed bothered by it. She was indifferent, her overall demeanor was changed, she was gloomy, depressed, seemingly refusing to leave her own room after that.

As the weeks passed more gardens across the town would be claimed by the blight as it would be known. One after the other they would all turn to naught but rot. Genevieve could be seen with an occasional grin as the news took to her. Of course Genevieve knew all too well the cause, the malevolence within her was at an explosive point, spreading slowly outward from within her, infecting so much. Mrs. Parker was the next to die after the old couple. Seemingly having caught the same sort of plague though for her it was much, much worse. Marked by excruciating pain, the struggle to breath, the sores on the body not to mention the blood that would pour from seemingly every orifice. It was a slow and agonizing death. Absolutely horrific.

Genevieve of course arrived at the funeral in all black, a dark veil covering her face, hiding the wicked smile that crossed her features as she watched the closed casket service and lowering the body into the ground. She had little offer in the way of words but instead offered the final rose from her garden, the last one that hadn't succumbed to the blight, pristine and red, it would fall onto the casket before the dirt was shoveled over it.

Genevieve turned to running, in the early morning hours before the whole of the town had awoken. She ran for miles at a time before returning to the quiet solitude. The towns people would wonder where she was, most assuming the recent deaths had simply overwhelmed and depressed the once sweet and jovial woman. Though they would still have Sam, who brought people food, who smiled kindly upon them. He seemed to fill the void that Genevieve had created with her own actions. But that didn't stop her from her work. Now Genevieve was corruption itself. The tenor of some in the small town would sour as well as her influence spread, there was a spate of crime, petty and otherwise. Arguments between friends and neighbors were on the rise. The tension fueled her. It spurred her forward.

Yet every night she would still prepare dinner and a cup of tea for Sam, even if she did not join him. She would offer a vague smile and some platitude before disappearing into her own world. A new dawn had emerged, and the Demon was inching every closer to unleashing all that she had, and potentially destroy the little town, or worse, to destroy Sam.