“Then the brand on my chest,” Seraphina hooked the book under her arm to touch her heart. “... You were the one who left it there... but you claim that you were only responsible for rescuing me, right? Then… who were those other creatures?” 

“That would be the Holy Consortium. Most religions consider us nemeses... but the truth is us archdemons and... the entities you would call seraphim have honored a truce for millennia now. The world they monitor is known as Paradiso... where magic is, as I understand it, has been tactfully suppressed in an effort to maintain an illusion of equipollence... whereas we demons cohabit Veritas with the witches who managed to break free of the Holy Consortium’s control. A world,” Malphas extended a hand and Seraphina watched with fascination as out of thin air, threads of fire were woven into the shape of a crow, or a reawakened phoenix, of dark flame. She watched as it took flight, darting toward the sky before dissipating in a shower of scattered embers. “... That is brimming with miracles. It could be that,” he reacknowledged her with a poised smile. “... That is where you were always meant to be, Lady Seraphina.” 

“Huh? Lady... Seraphina?”  

Malphas lolled his head to the side. “Oh, am I mistaken? At the moment of our consolidation, I took a fine-tooth comb through your memories to actualize the form that would best suit your interests. Hence,” he gestured generally to himself. “The similarities with that deviant known as Regulus. It was... a little unexpected, truth be told... you seemed like such a timid creature on the surface, but... ahem,” he coughed into his fist and lightly shook his head to expel the blush that had drained into his pale cheeks. “.... I also took note of your preferences, of course. Seraphina... it is a beautiful name, no? I personally believe that you should wear it with honor.” 

A manipulative, smooth-talking demon was, by all accounts, a prevalent trope. Since it was becoming increasingly unlikelier that Seraphina was going to wake back up in her dingy apartment any time soon, she encouraged herself to suspect everything and everyone, including the man who saved her life but, in the end, a pact was a two-edged sword, and as of now, she was... woefully unsure what her side of bargain entailed exactly beyond a bit of her blood and some irreversible trauma. If he indeed scoped out her memories, then there was a good chance he was merely curating his appearance and personality accordingly: a clever artifice to trick her into a false sense of security. Doubt was what had allowed Seraphina to survive in this unfeeling world so far, but she also had a feeling that she would have a lot more to lose if she neglected the assistance he was humbly providing... at least until she had a more thoroughgoing outlook of her circumstances.  

He was likely only regurgitating everything she had always wanted to hear... but however contrived, it still... it was unbelievably refreshing. Burning emotion crept up her throat and Seraphina coughed distractedly as eyes flickered to and fro like an agitated bug, but she eventually settled on apprising her boots, uneasily stroking the back of her neck. “... I... that... that’s all right, then.”  

“I also hope the clothes were to your liking. I must say, you pull them off exceptionally well.”  

“Clothes... right,” Seraphina had been so flustered that it ended up completely evading her attention, so she took the chance to swiftly reevaluate her bearing. An extravagant, primarily black dress complete with a ruffled square neckline and bouncy, diaphanous Juliet sleeves with intricate finishings and lace, and a cinched corset outlined by cutesy bows. Alongside a mesmerizing, ruffled waterfall skirt, sheer black stockings with a delicate lace trim and exposed, bowed garters. She could not resist giving it a little twirl, layered fabric rustling in waves of exquisite lacework and tulle; and she could scarcely keep a smile down, enthusiasm outplaying her creeping nerves. “Wow, this is... it’s absolutely gorgeous, I’ve never...”  

“Here,” she was then awarded with a lace choker featuring loops of silver chains and an ovular gemstone that shone a brilliant green, alongside a matching pair of dangly, jaded earrings. “Perfect,” Malphas authorized as he stepped back to admire his handiwork while Seraphina brushed out her skirt and reinterviewed herself one last time before the archdemon recalled her undivided attention. “... Lady Seraphina, it would behoove us to leave this town at the earliest convenience, I believe,” he implied as he eyed the distant cathedral. “... As it is overseen by the Church of the Ascendant, the followers of the Holy Consortium... I only brought you here due to its proximity to the border given the severity of your wounds, but now that you are properly healed... before they catch wind of your survival, that is, we should make haste to one of the witch safe havens.”  

“And... you want me to trust you just like that?” 

“Trust is not what I am asking for,” Malphas restated. “... Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Malphas... second in command to His Infernal Majesty, Lord Satan, and the executive commander of his personal legion. Suffice it to say, it has been centuries since anyone has dared to call upon my name... so much so that I have been accused of double-crossing my patrons and intentionally inciting war in the mortal realm, but... I assure you that it is little else but simple hearsay. In fact... I am indebted to you, mistress. Contrary to popular belief, I have no interest in the empty throne His Majesty left behind... His disappearance came as a shock to us all, so now I have the perfect chance to track him down and firmly reprimand him for shirking his work before those fools foist undesired candidacy on my shoulders...”  

Malphas cleared his throat to dispel the aggravation that threatened to undo his sober profile. “But,” he genuflected. “... As prescribed, royal obligations be damned... I will serve henceforth as your dutiful servant and yours alone... even if it is at the cost of my own life,” he reached out to accept her hand like a knight conferring an oath that had been written in his own blood, absolute fealty underlined by a determined expression.  

“... As you bade in your dying breath, I will... help you “live.”