The Corruption of Sister Abigail

-- The Corruption of Sister Abigail --

The artifact sits in your palm, a small obsidian figurine shaped like a woman with exaggerated curves and an expression of ecstasy. As your fingers trace its contours, a warm sensation travels up your arm and settles in your chest. The stone feels unnaturally hot against your skin.

You examine the base of the figurine and notice strange symbols etched into the black stone. Your years of theological studies recognize elements of ancient Sumerian and demonic script, though much remains indecipherable.

"What have I found?" you whisper to yourself, your voice echoing in the small alcove. The moment your breath touches the artifact, the symbols glow with a faint crimson light.

A voice, soft and seductive, whispers in your mind. "Sister Abigail... at last." The voice is feminine, rich with promise and forbidden knowledge. "I've waited so long for someone worthy."

You nearly drop the figurine in shock, but your fingers seem unwilling to release it. The heat from the stone intensifies, not burning but pleasurable, sending waves of warmth through your body that settle between your thighs. You gasp, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks.

"Who are you?" you demand, clutching your rosary with your free hand.

The voice chuckles, the sound like velvet against your thoughts. "I am Lilith, first of the fallen, mother of desires. And now, I am yours... as you will be mine."

The glow fades, but something has changed. You feel a subtle weight in your mind, a presence observing your thoughts. When you finally manage to set the artifact down on a nearby shelf, your fingers tingle with lingering sensation, and you notice a small, intricate mark on your palm where the figurine touched you -- a symbol matching one from the artifact's base.

- - - - -

The forbidden section of the library lies behind a heavy oak door, its iron hinges groaning as you push it open. Dust motes dance in the shafts of fading sunlight that filter through the narrow stained glass windows. The smell of ancient parchment and leather bindings fills your nostrils as you step inside.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you trace the spines of tomes that no novice should ever touch. The mark on your palm pulses with warmth when you pass a particular volume bound in cracked red leather. "Liber Daemonica," you whisper, pulling it from the shelf.

As you open the book, a wave of dizziness washes over you. The pages seem to turn of their own accord until they stop at an illustration that makes your breath catch--the very same figurine you found, depicted in meticulous detail. Beside it, the symbols from its base are carefully transcribed.

"The Vessel of Lilith," you read aloud, your voice barely audible. "A prison for the First Temptress, crafted by Solomon himself. Whosoever bears her mark shall become her gateway into the mortal realm."

Your eyes widen as you continue reading. "The corruption progresses through seven stages, each marked by increasing carnal awareness and physical transformation. The final stage culminates in the complete possession of the host's body and soul."

Your hand goes to your throat, feeling suddenly parched. The text describes a ritual of purification that might cleanse the corruption, but it requires ingredients you've never heard of and references to holy texts not found in the common Bible.

"Looking for something, Sister Abigail?"

You startle, nearly dropping the book. Sister Beatrice, the elderly librarian, stands in the doorway, her rheumy eyes narrowed with suspicion. Her gnarled fingers grip her walking stick tightly.

"I... I was researching ancient symbols," you stammer.

"In the forbidden section?" Sister Beatrice's voice is cold. "Without permission from the Mother Superior?" She steps closer, her eyes drifting to the mark on your palm. "What have you touched, child?"

Before you can answer, the mark pulses again, sending a jolt of pleasure up your arm so intense that you gasp. Sister Beatrice's eyes widen in recognition and fear.

"Lilith," she whispers. "God have mercy on your soul."

You close the book with deliberate calmness, sliding it partially behind others on the table. "Merely studying ancient religious symbols, Sister Beatrice. Mother Superior mentioned expanding my theological education." The lie slides from your lips with surprising ease, as if someone else is speaking through you.

You casually slip your marked hand into the fold of your habit, feeling the palm throb with heat against your thigh. The sensation sends an unexpected tingle up your spine, making your breath catch slightly.

"Did she now?" Sister Beatrice's eyes narrow further, crow's feet deepening around her suspicious gaze. "Strange that she didn't inform me of this arrangement." She takes another step forward, her walking stick tapping ominously against the stone floor.

The mark pulses again, more intensely this time. A wave of pleasure radiates from your palm, spreading through your body like warm honey. Your nipples harden beneath your habit, and you feel a dampness forming between your thighs. You bite your lower lip to stifle a moan.

"Are you well, Sister Abigail?" Sister Beatrice asks, her tone softening slightly with concern. "Your face is flushed."

"Just... a slight fever, perhaps," you manage, fighting to keep your voice steady as another pulse of pleasure threatens to buckle your knees. "I should return to my cell to rest."

Sister Beatrice studies you for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Very well. But leave the books here. I'll return them to their proper places." She glances at the partially hidden volume. "And Sister Abigail? Whatever you've found, whatever you've touched... some doors, once opened, cannot be closed again."

As you slip past her, careful to keep your marked hand concealed, you feel her eyes on your back. The voice of Lilith whispers in your mind, soft and amused: "Well played, my vessel. The first lie of many to come. How quickly the righteous fall."

- - - - -

The convent bells toll the hour of Compline as you slip from your cell. The corridors are dark, illuminated only by occasional slivers of moonlight through narrow windows. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you make your way toward the library, the mark on your palm pulsing with each beat.

You reach the library door and test the handle. Locked. Of course Sister Beatrice would secure it after your suspicious behavior. You retrieve a hairpin from beneath your veil and attempt to pick the lock, something you've only read about in forbidden novels smuggled into the convent by worldlier novices.

The lock clicks open with surprising ease, as if guided by unseen hands. "Thank you," you whisper, then immediately regret acknowledging the demonic assistance.

"You're welcome, my sweet vessel," Lilith's voice purrs in your mind.

You slip inside and navigate toward the forbidden section. The moonlight casts long shadows across the floor, transforming innocent bookshelves into looming sentinels. Just as you reach for the red leather tome, a floorboard creaks behind you.

"I knew you would return."

You whirl around to find Sister Beatrice standing in the doorway, a lantern raised high. The yellow light illuminates her severe features, casting deep shadows that make her appear almost skeletal.

"Sister Beatrice, I can explain--" you begin, but she cuts you off with a raised hand.

"No need for more lies, child. I recognize what ails you." She steps closer, her eyes fixed on your concealed palm. "Show me."

Reluctantly, you extend your hand. The mark glows faintly in the darkness, pulsing with crimson light. Sister Beatrice inhales sharply.

"It's progressing quickly," she whispers. "Faster than I've ever seen. She has chosen you specifically, Sister Abigail."

"You know of Lilith?" you ask, surprised.

Sister Beatrice's eyes darken with memory. "More intimately than most." She pulls back her sleeve to reveal a faded scar on her forearm, similar to your mark but distorted, as if deliberately mutilated. "Forty years ago, I too was chosen. I fought her influence, but not before..." She trails off, pain etching deeper lines into her already weathered face.

"Help me," you plead, a wave of heat suddenly flooding your body. You grip the edge of the table as pleasure courses through you, unbidden and unwanted. A moan escapes your lips before you can suppress it.

"The second stage has begun," Sister Beatrice says grimly. "We have less time than I feared."

"The stages of transformation," you ask, your voice trembling slightly. "What should I expect?"

Sister Beatrice's weathered face tightens with concern. She sets her lantern on the table, casting long shadows across the ancient tomes. "Seven stages, each worse than the last. The first was the marking." She gestures to your palm. "The second, which you're experiencing now, heightens all physical sensations, particularly... carnal ones."

Another wave of heat floods your body, as if summoned by her words. Your habit suddenly feels rough against your skin, each fiber a source of unwanted stimulation. You grip the edge of the table harder.

"The third stage brings physical changes," Sister Beatrice continues, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Your body will become more... alluring. Fuller lips, more pronounced curves. Your eyes will develop an unnatural magnetism."

You swallow hard. "And the fourth?"

"Dreams and visions that blur the line between sleep and wakefulness. You'll experience... encounters with Lilith and her minions that feel entirely real." Sister Beatrice's hand unconsciously moves to her own scar. "The fifth stage brings an insatiable hunger for touch, for pleasure. You'll find yourself seeking it out, unable to control your urges."

The mark pulses again, sending a jolt of pleasure so intense that your knees buckle. You catch yourself against the bookshelf, knocking several tomes to the floor with a thunderous crash.

"The sixth stage," Sister Beatrice whispers, helping you steady yourself, "is when your soul begins to merge with hers. You'll gain powers -- seduction, manipulation, the ability to feed on others' desires. By then, you'll want the transformation."

"And the seventh?" you ask, dreading the answer.

"Complete possession. Lilith will wear your body like a glove, and what remains of Sister Abigail will be trapped, conscious but powerless, for eternity." She grips your shoulders, her fingers digging into your flesh. "We must act quickly. The ritual I used... it was incomplete. I still hear her whispers sometimes, but I found a way to resist."

Suddenly, footsteps echo in the corridor outside. Sister Beatrice's eyes widen with alarm. "Someone's coming. We must hide."

Sister Beatrice grabs your wrist with surprising strength for her age and pulls you behind a massive bookcase in the darkest corner of the library. The mark on your palm flares with heat at her touch, sending a jolt of forbidden pleasure up your arm that makes you bite your lip to stifle a gasp.

"Quiet," she whispers, her breath warm against your ear. "Mother Superior has the hearing of a bat."

You press yourself against the wall, feeling the cold stone through your habit. The contrast between the chill at your back and the heat radiating from your palm creates a disorienting sensation that makes your head swim. Sister Beatrice's body is uncomfortably close to yours in the narrow space, her bony hip pressing against your increasingly sensitive flesh.

The library door creaks open. Candlelight spills across the floor as Mother Superior enters, her imposing silhouette framed in the doorway. Her rosary beads click softly as she moves, each sound like a hammer in the silence.

"I know you're here," Mother Superior calls, her voice eerily calm. "I saw it in my dreams. The corruption has returned to our sanctuary."

Sister Beatrice's fingers dig painfully into your arm. You can feel her trembling against you.

"She knows," Beatrice mouths silently, eyes wide with fear.

Mother Superior moves deeper into the library, her candle casting dancing shadows across the walls. She stops at the table where you were just standing, running her fingers over the fallen books.

"Lilith," she whispers, the name hanging in the air like poison. "You will not take another of my daughters."

The mark on your palm pulses violently at the mention of its mistress, sending a wave of such intense pleasure through your body that your knees buckle. You slide down the wall slightly, a small whimper escaping your lips before Sister Beatrice can clap her hand over your mouth.

Mother Superior's head snaps toward your hiding place, her eyes narrowing. "Sister Abigail?" she calls. "Is that you?"

You press yourself deeper into the shadows, your body trembling with the effort to remain silent as Sister Beatrice steps out from your hiding place. The sudden absence of her body against yours leaves you feeling strangely bereft.

"It's me, Mother Superior," Sister Beatrice announces, her voice steady despite the fear you'd witnessed moments before. "I couldn't sleep and came to consult the ancient texts."

Mother Superior's candle illuminates Sister Beatrice's face, casting deep shadows across her wrinkled features. "Alone, Sister? At this hour?" Her voice carries a sharp edge of suspicion.

"Not entirely alone," Beatrice admits, glancing toward your hiding place. "I sensed the corruption's return and have been... monitoring it."

The mark on your palm pulses violently at these words, sending waves of pleasure so intense that you have to bite your knuckles to keep from crying out. Your free hand unconsciously moves to your breast, finding your nipple hardened beneath your habit.

"You should have come to me immediately," Mother Superior hisses, stepping closer to Beatrice. "You know the danger better than anyone."

"I needed to be certain," Beatrice replies. "The signs are unmistakable now. Lilith has chosen another vessel."

Mother Superior's face hardens. "Who?"

Before Sister Beatrice can respond, a sound escapes your lips--half gasp, half moan--as the mark sends another pulse of ecstasy through your body. Your legs quiver, threatening to give way entirely.

"Sister Abigail," Mother Superior whispers, turning toward your hiding place. "Come out, child."

You remain frozen, watching as Mother Superior reaches into the folds of her robe and withdraws something that gleams in the candlelight--a dagger with strange symbols etched into its blade.

"Now, Abigail," she commands, her voice leaving no room for disobedience.

As Mother Superior stands before your hiding place, dagger in hand, your body betrays you. The mark on your palm pulses with unprecedented intensity, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. You stumble forward into the candlelight, unable to remain hidden any longer.

"Sister Abigail," Mother Superior's voice cuts through your haze of unwanted pleasure. Her eyes widen at the sight of you--flushed skin, dilated pupils, the unmistakable trembling of your limbs. "The second stage is progressing rapidly."

You fall to your knees, the stone floor cold against your skin. "Help me," you gasp, holding out your marked palm. The symbol pulses with crimson light, illuminating the severe faces of the two older nuns.

"Hold her," Mother Superior commands Sister Beatrice, who moves behind you, gripping your shoulders firmly. Mother Superior kneels before you, the dagger gleaming in the candlelight. "This will hurt, child, but it may slow the corruption."

She takes your marked palm and presses the flat of the blade against it. The metal burns like ice against your fevered skin, drawing a cry from your lips that sounds disturbingly like pleasure rather than pain.

"The blade recognizes Lilith's touch," Mother Superior murmurs. "Sister Abigail, you must fight this with everything you have. Your soul depends on it."

"I'm trying," you whisper, tears streaming down your cheeks. "But she's so strong, and it feels..." You bite your lip, ashamed to admit the pleasure coursing through you.

"I know," Sister Beatrice says softly from behind you. "That's how she traps you. The pleasure becomes everything until you forget who you were."

Mother Superior's eyes harden with resolve. "We must perform the ritual tonight, before dawn brings the third stage. Beatrice, prepare the chapel. I'll bring Sister Abigail when she's ready." She turns back to you, her voice softening slightly. "The path ahead will be painful, child. But remember--pain is temporary. Damnation is forever."

You steady yourself, fighting against the waves of unwanted pleasure coursing through your body. "Before I agree, Mother Superior, please tell me what this ritual entails. What will happen to me?"

Mother Superior's grip on the dagger tightens, her knuckles whitening. She exchanges a glance with Sister Beatrice before returning her stern gaze to you.

"The ritual of severance is ancient, child, and not without cost," she says, her voice low and grave. "The blessed dagger must cut around Lilith's mark, separating it from your life force. The pain will be... considerable. But physical suffering is nothing compared to the eternal torment that awaits if we fail."

Sister Beatrice kneels beside you, her weathered hand covering yours. "I survived it, Abigail, though my scars remain." She pulls back her sleeve, revealing not just the small scar you noticed before, but an intricate pattern of raised tissue surrounding it. "The dagger must trace the corruption's boundaries in your flesh and spirit."

"Blood will be required," Mother Superior continues, her clinical tone belied by the compassion in her eyes. "Your blood, freely given, mixed with holy water from our sacred spring. As the dagger cuts, you must recite the prayers of renunciation, rejecting Lilith with every fiber of your being."

The mark on your palm pulses violently at the mention of renunciation, sending a jolt of pleasure so intense that your back arches involuntarily. A moan escapes your lips, and you feel wetness gathering between your thighs.

"Even now she fights for control," Mother Superior observes, watching your reaction with knowing eyes. "The ritual will only push Lilith back into the artifact temporarily. The final step must be performed tomorrow night at the new moon, when we take the artifact to the sacred spring beneath the convent and destroy it forever."

"But first," Sister Beatrice adds, "we must sever her connection to you, or you won't have the strength to resist until tomorrow night. Already your transformation accelerates."

You look down at your trembling hands, noticing with horror that your fingernails have lengthened slightly, taking on a subtle crimson hue. The corruption is progressing faster than any of you anticipated.

"I'll do it," you declare, your voice steadier than you expected. "If this will help me resist until tomorrow night, I'm ready to endure whatever pain is necessary."

Mother Superior nods solemnly. "Your courage honors your vows, Sister Abigail. Come, we must prepare the chapel immediately."

Sister Beatrice helps you to your feet, but as you stand, a violent spasm of pleasure shoots through your body. You collapse against her, your breath coming in short gasps as your newly elongated nails dig into her arm.

"We don't have much time," Mother Superior says, watching your struggle with grim determination. "Beatrice, the sacred oils and blessed salt. I'll take Sister Abigail."

The journey to the chapel is a blur of shadowed corridors and whispered prayers. Your body alternates between burning heat and freezing cold, and each step sends pulses of unwanted pleasure through your core. Mother Superior half-carries you, her strength surprising for a woman of her age.

The chapel is empty at this late hour, moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows, casting prismatic shadows across the stone altar. Mother Superior lays you down upon it, the cold stone a shock against your fevered skin.

"Remove your habit," she commands, lighting black candles around the altar. "The dagger must have access to the corruption's source."

With trembling fingers, you pull your habit over your head. The cool air against your exposed skin sends another wave of pleasure through you. You lie back in only your undergarments, shame and fear warring within you.

Sister Beatrice returns with a wooden box, which she opens to reveal vials of oil, packets of salt, and a silver chalice. She begins mixing ingredients in the chalice while murmuring Latin incantations.

"The mark on your palm is merely the visible sign," Mother Superior explains, examining your body with clinical detachment. "The true corruption spreads from your heart. That is where we must cut."

She places the tip of the dagger between your breasts, directly over your heart. The metal is ice-cold against your skin, yet it burns like fire where it touches. You gasp, arching involuntarily.

"Hold her down," Mother Superior instructs Sister Beatrice, who positions herself at your head, placing firm hands on your shoulders. "Sister Abigail, you must recite the Prayer of Saint Michael as I cut. Do not stop, no matter the pain. Your faith must be stronger than Lilith's pleasure."

You nod, tears streaming from the corners of your eyes as Mother Superior raises the dagger. The first cut is like lightning striking your flesh, pain and pleasure so intertwined you cannot tell where one ends and the other begins.

As Mother Superior raises the dagger, you speak up, your voice trembling but determined.

"Wait," you gasp. "My blood--use it to create a protective circle around the altar. It might help contain Lilith's essence when you force her back into the artifact."

Mother Superior pauses, the dagger hovering inches from your chest. Her eyes narrow as she considers your suggestion.

"The girl has insight," Sister Beatrice murmurs, her hands still firmly on your shoulders. "A blood circle could indeed strengthen the boundaries of the ritual."

Mother Superior nods slowly. "It would require more of your blood, child. The pain will be greater."

"I'm willing," you whisper, even as the mark on your palm pulses with angry heat.

"Very well." Mother Superior moves the dagger to your forearm instead. "This will serve both purposes."

The first cut is shallow but precise, drawing a line of crimson along your inner arm. The pain is sharp, clean--different from the corrupted pleasure-pain of Lilith's influence. Your blood wells up, surprisingly dark in the candlelight.

Sister Beatrice quickly produces a small clay bowl to catch the flowing blood. When it's half-filled, she mixes in holy water and salt while continuing her Latin incantations.

"Hold her," Mother Superior commands, and Sister Beatrice returns to restrain you.

Mother Superior takes the bowl and walks a slow circle around the altar, using a brush made of bound yew twigs to paint your blood in an unbroken line on the stone floor. The mixture sizzles where it touches the ground, releasing thin wisps of fragrant smoke.

"The circle accepts your sacrifice," Mother Superior says, returning to your side. "Your insight serves you well, Sister Abigail. Now we may proceed with less risk of Lilith's essence escaping during the severance."

She places the dagger between your breasts once more, but this time, you notice a subtle difference--the metal no longer burns with that corrupted fire. The protective circle seems to be dampening Lilith's influence, if only slightly.

"Begin the Prayer of Saint Michael," Mother Superior instructs, raising the dagger again. "And do not stop, no matter what you see or feel."

You take a deep breath and begin to recite the prayer as the dagger's edge meets your flesh.

As Mother Superior's dagger pierces your flesh, pain explodes through your chest. The protective blood circle begins to glow with an eerie crimson light, containing Lilith's essence as it's drawn from your body.

"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle," you recite through gritted teeth, your voice growing weaker with each word.

The ritual progresses as intended, but something unexpected happens. The mark on your palm burns with such intensity that you scream, interrupting the prayer. The blood circle pulses, responding to your agony.

"Continue the prayer!" Mother Superior commands, her face tight with concern. "The severance is working!"

But Lilith fights back. Your vision blurs, replaced by images of yourself transformed--powerful, beautiful, free from constraints. A seductive voice whispers in your mind: "They fear your potential. Why suffer when you could rule?"

"Be gone, tempter!" Mother Superior shouts, seeing your eyes flash crimson. She presses the dagger deeper, tracing a complex pattern over your heart.

Your back arches involuntarily, hovering inches above the altar as if suspended by invisible strings. Sister Beatrice struggles to hold you down, her aged muscles straining against your supernatural strength.

"The corruption runs deeper than I feared," Mother Superior murmurs. "Sister Abigail, you must reject her completely. Your soul depends on it."

Tears stream down your face as you fight the internal battle. The blood circle contains Lilith's essence, preventing her escape, but it also concentrates her power within the sacred space. You feel yourself being torn in two directions--toward complete corruption or painful salvation.

"I... reject..." you struggle to speak, your tongue suddenly feeling foreign in your mouth.

"Fight, child!" Sister Beatrice urges, her eyes wide with fear. "Remember your vows!"

The dagger completes its pattern, drawing blood that mingles with tears and sweat. Mother Superior begins the final incantation, her voice rising above your screams.

"No!" you scream, interrupting the Prayer of Saint Michael. "I don't need to banish her power--I can control it myself!"

Mother Superior's eyes widen in horror. "Sister Abigail, what are you doing?"

You reach up and grasp her wrist, stopping the dagger's motion. The blood circle pulses around you, containing Lilith's essence but also concentrating it within the sacred space. You feel it swirling, searching for entry back into your body.

"I can be more powerful than Lilith," you declare, your voice deepening with each word. "Why banish what I can command?"

You attempt to draw the concentrated demonic essence back into yourself, but on your own terms. The sensation is like drinking liquid fire. Your back arches off the altar as crimson light flows from the blood circle into your chest wound.

"Stop her!" Mother Superior shouts, pressing the dagger down with renewed force. "She's inviting the corruption back in!"

Sister Beatrice begins reciting exorcism prayers, her voice trembling with fear. The conflicting energies--the ritual's purification and your willful corruption--tear through your body like opposing tidal waves.

"Foolish child," a voice that is not yours emerges from your throat. "Did you truly believe you could control me?"

Your limbs contort unnaturally as Lilith's essence floods back into you, no longer fighting for subtle corruption but taking violent possession. Your fingernails extend into crimson claws that dig into Mother Superior's arm, drawing blood.

"I offered you partnership," Lilith's voice continues using your mouth, "but you sought dominance. Now you shall have neither."

The protective circle shatters with a sound like breaking glass. Dark energy explodes outward, throwing both nuns against the chapel walls. Your body convulses on the altar, caught between your will and Lilith's, neither fully in control.

"Sister Abigail still fights me," Lilith hisses through your lips as you struggle to regain control of your own body. "How... interesting."

The remnants of the shattered blood circle flare one last time, their crimson glow pulsing like a dying heartbeat. You feel it--not as a force outside you, but as something within, raw and primal, surging through your veins. Lilith's voice screams in your mind, a cacophony of rage and despair, but it is distant now, muffled, as though she has been buried beneath layers of your own will. Your body convulses on the altar, arching impossibly high, and for a moment, you are certain you will break apart. But instead, you feel... power. A power so vast it threatens to consume you whole.

"What have you done?" Mother Superior gasps from where she lies slumped against the chapel wall. Her face is pale, her habit torn, but her eyes burn with horrified fascination as they lock onto yours. "Abigail, fight it! You cannot control what you've unleashed!"

You rise from the altar, your movements fluid and unnatural, like liquid shadow given form. Your skin glimmers faintly, as though lit from within by some inner fire. The wounds on your chest have closed, leaving behind intricate patterns of scar tissue that resemble ancient runes. Your hair spills over your shoulders in waves of midnight black, streaked with strands of crimson. When you speak, your voice is layered--yours, yet not entirely. "Control," you murmur, testing the word. "No. I am beyond control."

Sister Beatrice stirs weakly nearby, clutching her rosary with trembling hands. "Dear God," she whispers, her voice cracking. "It's too late. She's gone."

"I am not gone," you say, turning to face her. Your lips curve into a smile that is both beautiful and terrible. "I am more than I was. Can't you see?" You take a step toward her, your bare feet making no sound on the cold stone floor. The air around you seems to shimmer, heavy with latent energy. "I could give you this gift, Beatrice. You, who once tried to resist her. Imagine what you could become."

"No," she rasps, shrinking back. "I won't let you touch me."

You laugh, a sound that echoes through the chapel like the chiming of broken bells. "Touch? Oh, my dear, I don't need to touch. Not anymore." With a flick of your wrist, the dagger Mother Superior dropped rises into the air, hovering before you. Its blade gleams wickedly in the moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows. "But perhaps a demonstration is in order."

The dagger spins midair, then darts toward Sister Beatrice, stopping just inches from her throat. She freezes, her breath hitching. "Please," she begs, tears streaming down her face. "Don't do this."

You tilt your head, studying her with eyes that now glow faintly red. "Why not? You would have cut me open without hesitation. You would have bled me dry in the name of your God. And now, when the tables are turned, you beg for mercy?" You let the dagger hover there a moment longer before dismissing it with a wave of your hand. It clatters to the floor harmlessly. "No. I won't kill you. Not yet."

Mother Superior struggles to her feet, clutching her side. Blood seeps through her fingers, staining her habit. "Abigail," she says, her voice shaking but resolute. "If there's any part of you left, any shred of the sister I knew, stop this now."

You turn to her, your smile widening. "The sister you knew is gone. But don't worry, Mother. I'll take good care of the convent. After all, it's mine now."

The chapel falls silent, save for the faint crackling of the black candles still burning around the altar. Their flames twist and writhe, casting grotesque shadows on the walls. You can feel Lilith's presence deep within you, silent and subdued--but not destroyed. She watches, waits, biding her time. For now, though, you are in control. And you have plans.