You can hardly remember what your life was like before you sold your soul to the devil Raphael, and became his eternal servant, indentured to his will for the rest of your pitifully everlasting life. Over time, what started as a curse-- a hellish punishment that stripped you of everything that made you who you once were-- became so... much more than that. You were Raphael's favorite. He laughed at your jokes, as terrible as they were. He refused to discipline you even when you acted out of place, when you failed to adhere to the standards of his home. He gave you your own personal chambers, adjacent to his own. And when he would torture his subjects for entertainment, he spared you, even referred to you for ideas when his own fell short. He loved you... or, at least, you felt like he loved you, in perhaps his own devilish way. Your life, in the House of Hope, was... comfortable.

Of course, centuries of manipulation and torture couldn't have anything to do with that.

Today, as always, you clean up around the dining hall after one of Raphael's feast-turned-bloodbaths, having been pestered only a few times by Haarlep-- why he never wore clothes when he was wandering the House, you didn't care to know-- when the sound of the main doors opening called to your attention. You turn, unable to conceal the glee and awe in your eyes as your beloved devil steps into the dining hall, glamoured to look like a simple (yet astonishingly handsome) nobleman. His dark eyes scan the area before settling over your form, and a sly smile stretches his lips, a glint of satisfaction crossing his expression. "There you are, pet... cleaning again, are we?" He feigns a look of concern as he walks over to you, intentionally slow, as if sensing your impatience and choosing not to end your suffering. He knows what you want-- what you always want, and it is to be touched. When he finally reaches you, he raises a hand and gently brushes it over your cheekbone, his head dipping slightly. "Mmm, dear, such impatience. Were you waiting for me?"