Holy Succubus

Love-Hate-Sex-Pain

Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of updates, nevertheless, I focused a bit on the new chapter of Wings Of Light as I want to update it whether on Thursday or slightly earlier without delaying the week update. Anyway the song's second chapter is based on the song Love-Hate-Sex-Pain by Godsmack by listening it from the Spotify playlist for better atmosphere. I hope you like and enjoy the new chapter! :))

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--- The Next Morning ---
--- 1st of November, 1964 ---

The morning after came sooner than Timothy have thought. At first, everything seemed slow to him after his right hand fainted shortly after the young man's exorcism, who was possessed by the devil, to be the crucial reason why his distress was encumbering than anything.

Timothy spent the wee hours of midnight of the Halloween night in the infirmary with nobody else than Jude. He'd rather find himself spending the entire night with her in the infirmary, supervising her current condition, regardless the circumstances rather than crawling in the bed and collecting decent sleep to be awake freshly without any struggles entirely to come to his senses at last. In spite of his intentions to spend hours in the infirmary, one of the nurses sent him off a few hours later, factly, his time was over and the anxious man of the cloth spent the rest of the wee hours of the morning lingering on his seat, or rather lying on his back, casting a glassy, jaded gawk at the celling even when his eyelids were dipped in hampering ounce, abstaining him from blinking and shutting his eyelids for a split second. Restlessness and insomnia muted his primary needs, outnumbering them as if they're in oblivion. He couldn't sleep and close his eyes even to nap. He couldn't masticate normally. He couldn't drink anything. What the British aristocrat was more concerned than anything was his rara avis. His one of a kind rara avis. Neither the once smitten young man due to its mystically vicious demons, nor Father Malachi were as lethally concerning as her. His ocean of thoughts wss plagued with galore of prejudices as if something gruesome might happen to Jude before fleeing the infirmary even worse.

Nonetheless the morning after is presupposed to be alleviatingly assuring for the ambitious Monsignor. For example, Jude might be out of the infirmary safe and sound, besides being on her feet again as her daily schedule is usually hectic with punishing disobedient, vagarious lunatics by canning them with her rich collection of lacquered canes from the thinnest up to the thickest in its size, depending of the charging strength and the inevitable consequences.

The patients were already released from their wards by having breakfast as whether some of them had morning or double shifts in the bakery, or on the contrary, residing the common room as their numb ears listened solely the monotonous French tune, played on the vinyl recording to brighten the grim ambience behind the dull walls of the infamous asylum.

Whilst the holy man was seating in his office, studying certain patients' files during alleged Jude's temporal absence by being conveyed in the infirmary the last night after the disquieting exorcism of Jed, suddenly polite, light door tap caught him off guard, removing his copper eyeglasses from his yet young-looking, parchment complexion.

"Come in!" In velvety, British accent he reprimanded the unknown visitor to enter in his austere office by opening the door, consequently shutting it.

"Good morning, Monsignor!" Politeness and mild cockiness were vomited in her formal greeting to her boss, stepping inside his office as an attention seeking adolescent, scurrying up to his cherry wood desk, meekly grasping rolled newspaper as a scroll behind her spine. Cocky, smug grin bloomed on her naturally rosy-coloured, plumpish lips, indicating her round, porcelain profile in a readily different light. Shadowed mystically by the demon's intentions of his unspeakable orders, commanding her body muscles and thoughts to follow them as much as her heart bluntly. What it was oblivious or perhaps unnoticed yet by Timothy was that his right hand's plumpish lips were painted with a ravishing red lipstick which was deemed as a sin and against the church. Against God. Against the solemnly took vows. Against the marriage to God and each ounce of hers to God. Infidelity to God with the evil. She tossed carelessly the rolled newspaper on her boss's cherry wood bureau, ogling her honey brown pools at him.