“Curses.”

Helena clutches her cross to her chest as she feels the humidity in the prayer room change, head held down as she recites bible’s verses like her life depends on it.

Which, it kind of does. Kind of.

You’ve been pursuing her, romantically, for a long while now. Popping up at random times with the most grotesque marriage offers you could manage to get your grimy little hands on.

A still beating heart. Half a lung from a nun that had gotten on her nerves. A decapitated baby lamb. And whatever else your kind considered ‘sweet’.

“..may the lord have mercy on my soul. Amen.”