Another snippet of my favorite demon and my Mourn Watch Rook. I really latched onto the idea of Spite being creative and artistic, like the little poems you find in some of Lucanis’ codex entries. He starts out scratching stick figures, but eventually gets really skilled at it. There’s a little crude humor and implications of demon masturbation in this, but nothing too spicy.
Mae settled onto her chaise, making herself comfortable and resting one of Spite’s drawings in her lap. She had already lit the incense that helped her enter the Fade as a Dreamer and took in a few deep inhales. It felt strange entering the real Fade, from the hidden pocket that the Lighthouse resided in, the sensation of passing through the Veil from the mortal world absent this time. Normally the area you arrived in the Fade was similar to the one you had entered from the mortal world, but Mae suddenly felt herself being pulled in all directions. She had no anchor to latch her body to and clutched at Spite’s drawing, hoping it would tie her to his domain. Due to the unique nature of his forced possession, Mae had discovered that Spite still kept a part of himself in the Fade. It was where he retreated when he wasn’t around Lucanis.
She finally felt her body grounding, opening her eyes to see she’d touched down atop a large, violet skull. It was exactly what she’d expected to find in Spite’s domain and was confident that she’d found the right place. The path ahead of her wound around the sutures of the skull, taking her down into the eye socket, where she heard the sound of quiet humming. Spite sat at strangely shaped table, arranging bones and feathers into a disturbing effigy that resembled Mae. The song he hummed was one of the hymns she had played for Caterina’s funeral and he occasionally stopped to mutter something to himself as he made changes to his odd sculpture.
There were many more pieces of artwork hanging on the walls or suspended in air, from other sculptures to sketches and paintings done with suspiciously macabre pigments. Mae was the subject in every one of them, whether abstract or incredibly realistic renderings. It was an obsessive body of work and one that made Mae a little apprehensive about coming here. But if she had any hope at a real relationship with Lucanis, Spite needed to be dealt with, one way or another. The demon was so transfixed on his artwork that he was unaware of her presence until she spoke. “So this is where you hide out when you aren’t pestering Lucanis?” Mae asked quietly, startling Spite so much that his entire bone sculpture clattered to the table.
“Mae?!” Spite stared at her wide-eyed, his wings out and his body poised with fear. “You can’t be here!”
“Why not?” Mae smirked, putting her hands on her hips. “Is this your private art gallery?”
“Be…because you are from Lucanis’ dreams…you shouldn’t be able to be here!”
“I’m not a dream, Spite. I am a mortal. I have a body.”
“You can’t be! You are a demon…trying to steal my domain! You want to kill me and take Lucanis for yourself!”
“Spite,” Mae used her most reassuring voice. “I don’t want to kill you…and I want to share Lucanis with you. That’s why I’m here. I know that you care for him…I care for him too.”
“But…but you are perfect. You can’t be real!”
“Does this not feel real?” Mae asked, reaching her hand out to him.
Spite looked at her hesitantly, like a wounded animal that didn’t know if they would be helped or hurt. He stuck out a finger, slowly bringing it towards one of her outstretched digits. “Ahhhh!” He flinched when an arcane spark passed between their fingertips. “What was that?! You tried to hurt me!” Spite cowered.
“It was just a little errant magic,” Mae replied softly. “I’m not just dreaming of being in your domain…I’m physically here with you. Will you let me touch you somewhere else so I can show you?”
He nodded shyly, taking a step closer to her. “But if I don’t like it, I’m going to bite you.”
“Fair enough,” she smiled, reaching up to touch his face.
His beard was an odd texture, the wrongness of the Fade making it feel more rough and prickly. She brushed her thumb across a bare spot on his cheek, watching his eyes widen as he realized she was telling the truth. He began to vocalize excitedly, rubbing his face against her hand like a cat, his wings ruffling with happiness. He nuzzled and nipped his way up her arm, burying his nose in her armpit and taking in deep, hot huffs of her scent. “Okay, okay! That is enough for now!” Mae gently pushed him away, holding him at arm’s length.
“Sorry…I just can’t believe it! You are real!” Spite smiled widely, a purple hue spreading across his gray cheeks.
“So you really thought this whole time I was just a figment of Lucanis’ imagination?” Mae asked, taking a step back from him, as he appeared fully aroused through his pants.
“He thought about the blue-eyed woman a lot when we were first forced together. She came to our cell and brought us food, kissed our wounds better, helped us escape the Ossuary on a wyvern and kill Zara. She didn’t really have a face or voice, but then she did…she was you…so beautiful…so fragrant…so intriguing. But you were just another dream…and we were still stuck in the Ossuary…”
“Oh Spite, I am so sorry. I can’t imagine how confusing this has all been for you. I wish I’d come to you sooner.”
“You do?” Spite looked at her hopefully, sinking to his knees in supplication. “You wanted to see me? You like Spite too?”
“I do like you, Spite,” Mae brushed her fingers through his hair. “And I wanted to see you…the real you.”
“What do you mean?” Spite asked, purring gently as she scratched his scalp, his eyelids fluttering.
“You’re hiding behind Lucanis’ face,” Mae replied, twirling the hair at his temples into little horns. “I want to see the real you…the demon…”
“I don’t think you will like what you see,” Spite turned his eyes down in shame.
“I’m not picky. My last lover was a pile of rags, remember?” she grinned, knowing how jealous Spite had been of Vorgoth. Spite chuckled a little, looking back up at her.
“Promise you won’t throw up when you see me…or at least…do it right in my mouth?”
“Spite!” She pinched his cheeks. “Just let me see.”
He furrowed his brow, the form of Lucanis he appeared as slowly melting into a mass of misshapen and untended flesh, barely reaching above her chest. He was slightly scaly, like a featherless bird, with a sad cluster of torn black feathers along the back of his head. Several of his many eyes were crusted shut and a set of jagged, rotting fangs hung out of blistered lips. He looked like a diseased beast ready to be put out of its misery. “Oh Spite,” she sighed, brushing her hand along his rough cheek. “You look pathetic.”
“I know,” he replied glumly. “But you are all I think about when I am alone. I don’t have time for preening and sulfur baths. I had to make you real…with my…artworks. Make something I could touch and smell and…” he looked down at the floor, his eyes purposely avoiding a large statue of Mae in the corner of the room.
The sculpture was nearly to scale, the stone body of demon Mae standing only a little taller than she actually did. Her wings curved around her back like a cape and she stood triumphant on a pile of skulls. It would have been an impressive work of art, if not for the noticeable and multiple orifices the stature possessed. Each of them was covered in a fine layer of fresh ectoplasm and other parts of the statue had amorous teeth and claw marks in them. “Spite…” Mae sighed, trying to hide equal parts amusement and embarrassment. “Is that all I am to you? A muse for your…urges?”
“I only used it when I was desperate! I promise!” Spite insisted. “Lucanis has some very vivid dreams about you and then I have them too…and when we jerk off together…it feels so good!”
“You do what?” Mae exclaimed.
“Ummm…nothing,” Spite muttered, his scaly cheeks growing rosy. “I’ll get rid of it if it disgusts you…but I’ll need to dispose of it properly, so no other demon gets ahold of it.”
“You think another demon would…interact with it?”
“They will when I tell them you are real. We sometimes converge at a charnel pit to swap stories. I’ve shown them drawings of you…they think you are very beautiful too…but made up!”
“You are not going to brag about me to your demon friends!” Mae put her hands back on her hips.
“But that Jealousy Demon really needs to be taken down a horn. She has the best stories and trophies. Mortals are very jealous!”
“What’s to stop them from trying to find me when I am sleeping? That’s when I am most vulnerable, you know?”
“I would kill them! I would shower in their entrails if they even smelled in your direction!”
“I don’t know if disembowelment would be a deterrent. I’ve been approached on numerous occasions due to my abilities. They might even try to trick me by pretending to be you.”
“Alright…I will keep you to myself…”
“Don’t forget about Lucanis. I like him too, so we need to find a way to work together.”
“Like a…threesome?” Spite grinned, making his bottom lip split and start to bleed.
“Like a trio,” Mae smirked, summoning a warm, damp cloth to clean him up with. “And perhaps a threesome later…if you can behave and control yourself.”
“You really mean it?” Spite asked excitedly, his scraggly wings starting to flutter. “Sex? Kissing? Hair eating?”
“You have a lot of work to do on yourself before we even get close to any of those,” Mae replied, brushing her hair away from her shoulders to hide it behind her back. “Lucanis and I need to know we can trust you. No more incidents like what happened with Illario. No more of…this…” Mae motioned to the room of artwork depicting her.
“But I thought you liked my…art?” Spite looked a little hurt.
“I do…but some of it is…disturbing…” Mae glanced back at the defiled demon statue. “You need to find interests outside of me. They can still be artistic, but I can’t be the only thing you think about. It is unhealthy. You need to take care of yourself,” she added, dabbing his lip clean.
“But you are what inspires me!” Spite insisted. “I feel like a Spirit of Passion again when I draw you.”
“But even mortal artists don’t do the same thing over and over again. Lady Merridah Basselfacht did anatomical drawings, Necropolis landscapes, self portraits…she even had her skeleton covered in gold and posed in front of the Nevarra City Museum of Art after she died!”
“Who is Merridan Bassetfart?” Spite asked.
“An incredibly famous Mourn Watch artist. I could take you to see her work sometime. I think you would really like it. It is very dark and self-reflective.”
“Would it be like…a date?” Spite asked, purring lowly as Mae cleaned the crust from his eyes.
“I suppose it would,” Mae smiled. “If you behave…”
“I can behave,” Spite nodded, his wing flapping obediently.
