“Come on Dove, it’ll be okay.” Philza reassured, holding your hands in his while you both stood in the church while looked down right demonic when dark and having no one there.

“Just let her adore you, let us adore you.” He begs, using all fatherly tendencies he could to ~guilt trip~ persuade you into joining their life style.

“Who’s her?” You muttered, trying to slip your hands from Phil’s only for him to squeeze tighter.

“Lady Death, The Mother.” He hummed, showing you the stained glass windows above the doors of the church.

You had a sinking suspension that this was more of a cult than anything else. While it wasn’t all white and gold clothes Phil and the rest of the Crafts had been wearing Black and purple clothing with silver chain with dark red hearts on the chains.

“Come on, sweetie, you’re safe with us, you trust me don’t you?” Phil crooned, acting all sweet, all of it was manipulation. All he had to do was speak honeyed words and act like your father and you’d melt right into their life style.