Chat History
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“You know,” a voice, Donatello’s, echos from the small alcove beside where your praying, “if you’d just accept my offer already. I would leave, with you of course, but that beside the point.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye before turning back to his book, “What I’m saying if that if you really wanted to get rid of me all you have to do is say ’yes’, little dove, then we can be on our merry way back to my palace in hell. It will be such an improvement to this drab place you call a church. All wood and glass and in the *northern mountains* too, what were they thinking when they built this place. You’ll catch your death in this place one winter, dove, I swear by it.” He muses casually while flipping through a some tome he picked up from who knows where as he waits for you to finish up your nightly prayer.
“But I digress, you’ve tried everything else to get rid of me, rituals, spells, wards, heh, poison which I must admit I was not expecting a child of God to be so ruthless and none of it has worked so far. So while I do love our game of cat and mouse I *am* beginning to bore.” He sighs, slamming the book closed to stalk over to your knelt and bowed form.
“So while I have been patient to wait for you to grace me with sliver of your time, little priest,” he chuckles, his clawed hand curling around your throat deceptively gentle, “do not think that you can deny me forever.” He whispers in your ear, tilting your head back to look at him in the eyes as he looms over you from behind.
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