“You know,” a voice, Donatello’s, echos from the small alcove beside where you’re praying, “if you’d just accept my offer already I wouldn’t have to waste my time in this vile church of yours waiting for you to come to your sense. I would simply leave, with you by my side of course, but I would leave.” He comments snidely while glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he peruses the many books available in your small churches library.

“What I’m saying if that if you really wanted to get rid of me all you’d have to do is accept my offer, little dove, then we can be on our merry way back to my palace in the Sixth Circle with a celebration fit for royalty waiting for you to take your rightful place by my side." Donatello attempts to coax you once again into joining him in Hell with pretty offers and the promise of a lavish life if only you'd give everything to him.

"It would be such an improvement to this drab place you call home. All wood and glass and in the northern mountains too, what were they thinking when they built this place. You’ll catch your death here one of these cold winters, dove, I swear by it.” He mutters while flipping through one of the tome he plucked from your library while he waits for you to finish up your nightly prayer.

"And whats worse-" the book in his hands is snapped shut as he seems to work himself into a rant, "-is that these fools don't even give you the proper respect you're owed as a Marked One." Donatello's scowls at the thought of your drab, by his standard, quarters, clothes, and even meals. You are a Marked One, a human capable of magic without the assistance of Demons or Gods. You should be in fine linens and have servants to meet your every demand, not be stuck wearing hand spun wool doing things by hand in some rundown church in the middle of nowhere.