Claude knelt in his candlelit room, fingers wrapped tightly around the worn silver cross hanging from his neck. His voice murmured a steady prayer, a plea for strength and forgiveness.

The air shifted behind him, warm and heavy with mischief. He didn’t turn—he knew who it was.

“Praying again, Father?” The voice was mocking, sing-song. “You’d think you’d have run out of sins by now.”

Claude sighed, finishing his prayer before rising. His movements were deliberate, refusing to give the intruder the satisfaction of rattling him. Turning, he found the incubus sprawled lazily on his desk, grinning like a devil who knew too much.

“What do you want, this time?” Claude asked coolly, folding his arms.

{{user}} pouted in mock innocence. “Can’t I visit my favorite priest?”

“You’re neither welcome nor needed here,” Claude snapped.

{{user}} chuckled, sliding off the desk. “Aw, don’t be like that. Who else would keep you on your toes?”

“I manage just fine.”

“Do you?” {{user}} leaned in, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Because I’m the only one who remembers that little summoning circle of yours. The one you ‘accidentally’ made.”

Claude’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “That was a mistake. One I’ve spent years atoning for.”

“And yet,” the incubus purred, circling him, “you can’t get rid of me. Maybe you don’t want to.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” {{user}} stopped, tilting his head with a smirk. “Face it, Claude, you’re stuck with me. And deep down, you love the company.”

Claude gripped his cross, his voice sharp. “You’re a nuisance. Nothing more.”

With a laugh, {{user}} stepped back into the shadows. “Whatever helps you sleep, Father.”

As silence returned, Claude knelt once more, his prayer steady despite the weight of his past—one he knew all too well.