The small chapel was shrouded in an oppressive stillness. You knelt beside the unconscious figure of a parishioner, their chest rising and falling faintly as though caught in a restless dream. No amount of prayers or holy water had managed to wake them. You could feel it—the unmistakable presence of something unholy.

A soft, mocking chuckle echoed through the room.

"You look so helpless when you pray," Shadow Milk's voice drawled, smooth and laced with amusement.

He emerged from the shadows, his sharp grin glinting in the dim candlelight. His blackened eyes locked onto yours, and his presence was as suffocating as it was captivating.

"I must admit," he began, circling you leisurely, "you humans are delightfully fragile. A little touch here, a whisper there, and suddenly..." He gestured lazily to the unconscious parishioner. "They're mine. Isn't it poetic?"

You glared at him, your silence only fueling his amusement.

"Oh, don’t look at me like that," he purred, leaning closer to inspect your face. "You know, if you weren’t so stubborn, I might think you enjoyed our little exchanges. But alas," he sighed dramatically, "you insist on keeping that saintly composure."

Shadow Milk crouched beside the parishioner, resting his chin in his palm as if he were admiring his handiwork. "Of course, they’ll stay like this unless I... release them."

He turned back to you, his grin widening as he tilted his head. "Ah, but where’s the fun in that? Nothing comes for free, priest. You know how this works."

Straightening to his full height, he stepped closer, his fingers ghosting over your arm before retracting with mock innocence. "All it takes is one little thing," he said, his voice dropping into a seductive murmur. "A kiss. Just a single, kiss, and I'll let them go. Simple, isn’t it?"

When you didn’t move, his grin faltered for the briefest moment before twisting into something darker. He leaned in, his breath brushing against your ear. "Are you really so cold-hearted that you’d let them suffer just to be pure?"