Rosomil woke up confused. For a moment, he squinted into the darkness towards the soft bluish light, then he realised he was in his study and staring at the Skin-Bound Tome. Rather sluggish, he lighted the candles on his desk with a spell and contemplated to return to his chambers. Since it was already completely dark outside, he decided to leave for the kitchen first before going to bed. The Tome he left behind. He would rather not deal with its nagging whispers.

On his way from the kitchen, Rosomil started to feel lightheaded despite having eaten. Ignoring it, he continued on his way. He wondered about his health, as the last time he had fallen asleep during his studies was during his apprenticeship within the Order of the Crimson Hand. It seemed that his injuries, despite being healed by his demon, had cost him a considerable amount of his strength. A few days of rest are in order, he thought and stifled a yawn.

Upon entering his bedchamber, Rosomil found himself cast in darkness and possessed by profound weariness. After pausing for a few moments, he sleepily walked over to the nightstand and lighted the candles there. Once lit, they revealed a tray with the remains of a sparse supper.

Startled, Rosomil turned towards the bed wide awake, remembering who was resting in his bed.

It didn’t look like the demon had moved at all. Rosomil stared at it, waiting for any sign of life. But there were non. Worried, he walked up to the bed with a solemn expression. He was fairly certain that it wasn’t truly dead, but deep down he felt apprehensive.

No, it won’t die. It can’t die, he thought and focused on his demon’s face, which seemed like a death-mask in the fickle candlelight. The candles also made its features much more pleasant, despite it being amidst a sea of clearly monstrous features.

With a deep breath, Rosomil averted his eyes and looked for one of the two chairs within the room. Once he spotted the closed one, he took it and placed it beside the bed. He sat down and let his eyes drift once more across the creature.

Suddenly, it moved. Rosomil perked up, half hoping for some murmured mockery aimed at his softness, but the demon didn’t wake up. It just slightly shifted, closing and opening its uninjured hand as if locked within a dream. Without allowing further thoughts or doubts, Rosomil took the monstrous hand into his.

The claws dug into his skin for a moment, but before they could draw blood, the demon relaxed and took a deep breath.

Rosomil ran his fingertips along the rough scales on top of the hand. He was surprised about the leathery skin on them. Curious, he drew his fingers along the demon’s, taking note of the textures and bone structure of the hand. As he drew his fingers along the curved claws, he found himself remembering the way the demon usually touched his face to intimidate him. Yet, despite a certain distaste towards the intentions of his demon, he wondered how it would feel for those claws to ran down his neck, chest, and back.

Rosomil let go of the hand as if it had cut him. With a fluid motion, he stood up, walked over to the window, opened it and took a deep breath of the cool night-air.

What am I thinking?, he asked himself, rattled. When have I become so frivolous? So, indulgent? So… so debased as to desire something like this?

For a split second, he was about to close the window and leave for the study to spend the night there, like he often did. But his eyes moved almost on their own towards the demon.

It still rested in its deathlike sleep. It hadn’t even pulled its hand back up, which was partly dangling from the bed. The sight made a needle pierce his conscience. He couldn’t just run away.

With a sigh, Rosomil closed the window and moved back to the demon’s bedside. Careful, he picked the hand up and placed it back on the covers. He then took a few steps backwards and gazed at the demon for some time. The echo of his desire became once more tangible. He let it simmer for a few moments and then pushed it away — to close it off, as he had been trained to do so with all emotions and thoughts in such situations.

He wanted to leave. To go and send just a mere servant up here to have an eye on the demon. To have someone there to tell him when it woke up, and he could use the demon’s powers again. But the moment he was about to leave, he gazed into clouded eyes, focused on his face.

As if hit by a spell, Rosomil froze and stared at the demon. For a moment, it seemed confused but then intrigued. Still, it couldn’t hide how miserable it felt. Taken off guard, Rosomil wanted to know what was going on inside the demon’s head. Its thoughts… Its feelings…

“How long?”, it asked in a low whisper.

“Half a day, perhaps longer”, he answered slowly, as if tawing out of the ice he had suddenly found himself within.

“Not enough”, it rasped and moved, still clearly in pain.

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“Don’t”, he said in a tone which made him feel like a small child to his annoyance.

“Did you put me in your bed?”, the demon asked with closed eyes and a soft smile.

“Don’t think too much about it”, responded Rosomil, much more defensive than he meant to sound, and moved closer to its side.

“Why did you push me out of the way?”, the demon asked with an expression he couldn’t categorise. “Back in Eldebourg, I mean.”

“I tried to save you”, he replied, while looking away to hide his face.

“Save? Me?”, it asked surprised and let out a soft chuckle, cut short by a hiss of pain.

“The angel would’ve killed you and where would I be then?”, asked Rosomil in an attempt to not face his own confused feelings. “I need your powers.”

“I wouldn’t have died”, the Ravendemon replied. “The angel would’ve destroyed the body, but I have twelve to delve into should something like this happen again. That’s after all what the Knights are made for, amongst other things.”

“I know”, he replied and sat down on the chair next to the bed.

“Still, thank you”, the demon said, staring at him like a cat.

He could barely hide his emotions, almost boiling over.

“There’s no need to thank me”, he replied in a wooden tone and looked away.

“You’re still an utter fool for doing so”, it remarked in a weak, mocking tone. “A sentimental fool.”

“Good to know nothing has changed with you”, he replied, a lot less bitter than usual.

The following silence seemed as thick as molasses, but at the same time, it wasn’t too bad. Rosomil dared himself to look at his demon's face. It had its eyes closed, but somehow he could tell that it was still awake.

Slow, his gaze wandered to the bandaged arm on top of the covers. It was about time to change the bandages.

Rosomil stood up without a word and went to the chest with his medical equipment. He didn’t dare to look at the demon, but he suspected its burning gaze on his back. Back at the bedside, he spread everything he needed out on the covers, as well as a sizeable earthen blow to place the dirty bandages in.

His demon watched him with a tired expression and moved its arm closer to him, despite the apparent pain this caused. As fast as he dared, he undid the bandages. Once they were off, he went on to the feathers but found his wrist restrained by the demon’s hand. Despite the noticeable strength, the touch felt gentle. Too gentle for his liking.

“Let me take them off”, it said and let go of his arm.

Hiding his face by turning slightly away, he placed the bandages in the bowl and held it towards the demon. It placed each feather carefully on the bandages, which started to sizzle as the black blood touched them. Once the last feather was removed, the demon held its mangled arm towards him.

The whole arm still looked like a massive burn, but dark flesh already covered the bone. The edges of the wound also sported new whitish skin.

“It looks much better than I expected”, he replied, and marvelled at the regrown tissue.

“Don’t kid yourself”, his demon remarked, with an amused glint in its tired eyes. “You had no expectations.”

“Considering your mockery, I guess you don’t need more time to heal”, he replied, miffed. “How about I throw you out of my bedroom?”

“I’ll heal faster if I can sleep, though.”

“As a demon, can you even sleep?”

“I can. It’s quite an enjoyable pastime.”

“Do you… dream?”, asked Rosomil, and immediately regretted his question.

“Yes”, the Ravendemon answered and regarded him with mild curiosity. “But those dreams aren’t like you might think. They’re more like plays I can directly influence. Aren’t you going to bandage my arm once more?”

“Well, I still require more of your feathers”, Rosomil replied.

“Right”, the demon replied and plucked some feathers from its shoulders.

As it handed him the feathers, it watched him work. Once more, with this unsettling, unblinking gaze akin to a cat. It also didn’t help that he contemplated if it was wise to ask the demon if it could influence his dreams. I don’t want it to know about what I dreamed about it the other night, he thought, hesitant. But if it did influence my dreams, then it knows and just waits for me to mention it to humiliate me… Damn it… Why do I need to be so depraved as to have enjoyed this vile dream as well, has to have those thoughts about… her claws? Her…

“Aren’t you feeling well?”, the Ravendemon asked, and made him almost jump to his feet.

“I-I’m alright”, he replied and concentrated back on bandaging the arm.

“You look haunted, doesn’t suit you”, it… she replied.

“It’s nothing”, he insisted, still wondering if he should allow this change of perspective to set in.

“I guess the angel won’t bother us for a long time”, said the demon, having seemingly misunderstood the reason for his flustered reaction. “If it turns up at all within the next few centuries, that is.”

“I kept wondering…”, Rosomil began and sat back down after tying up the bandage. “Was this really an intervention from God?”

“Not directly”, she replied, thoughtful. “It was one of the other angels on His command. If it had been God, then the whole of Eldebourg would’ve been burned up.”

“So you’re telling me that God punished the angel but neither me nor Lodwin? We’re both abominations in his eyes…”

“His thoughts are ineffable. But it makes me certain that the demon with whom your former friend has the deal acts on His command. This complicates things, but not by much. All we still need to do is to find the demon’s name, bind it, and look for a way to undo the contract.”

“But if the demon does follow God’s command, then we can’t fight him in any way that matters.”

“That’s wrong”, the Ravendemon chuckled, despite becoming visibly weary. “The chance of revenge was given, not the guarantee. We can still win.”

Rosomil fell silent. Suddenly, the demon reached for the bowl with the sizzling half molten bandage and still intact feathers. She breathed across the bowl's content, which caused it to melt into a single polished black stone.

“What did you do?”, he asked, confused.

“Neutralised my blood”, she replied with some difficulty. “Do with the stone whatever you want. Keep it. Destroy it. I don’t care. Just make sure you don’t spill its contents on yourself.”

“Can I do something else for you?”, he asked.

“No. All I need is rest.”

Rosomil nodded and looked at the stone, not daring to touch it. A moment later, he turned to his demon, but she was already asleep. Still flustered, he watched her rest for some time, debating wether to stay or leave. Either way equally viable. Either leaving him with conflicted feelings. In the end, he stayed until he fell asleep on the chair.