In the dimly lit bedroom, with only a night lamp flickering, Margaret knelt on the bed and opened a tattered book of black magic.
She whispered the devil's nickname softly. "Saint Sebastian."
A black mist slowly crawled out from the pages of the book, habitually winding around her legs.
Margaret grabbed one of the tendrils. "I don't have what you want. I just... have some questions."
The mass of black substance didn't seem fully coherent yet. It flowed quietly on the bedsheet, as if contemplating something, then rose and coalesced into a faintly visible skull.
Margaret looked at the semi-transparent face, fearing it might disintegrate at any moment, and hastily asked, "I went to the void once, smelled a dangerous stench, exactly like the scent in Rose's eyes, and Charlotte had it too... Are all devilish scents similar?"
It stared at her silently, its curved tendrils disintegrating and re-forming.
