Azrael, for she of death.
Brother Cadaver snarled, “Thy fools, you can’t solely depend on two pieces of wood to release one’s being from the wrath of omnipotent demons,“, while tightly latching upon his studies, The introduction to Demonology, Witchcraft’s blessings, Parapsychology. His nails glimmered besmeared with black lacquer.
Stares glaring upon the exorcist wreaked dubious grimaces, tassels swaying upon the sheer gesture of a foot. Thine echos of apparitions shriek as violent flurries collide upon Azrael Mortis’s Cathedral.
She who stands in storm amongst fire, dark against light, with a domineering melancholy ambiance amongst thy who lay upon her mercy, lay in the necropolis. Azrael’s delicate whispers reconcile with her merciful wings accepting upon those who lay, their eyes amongst demise herself.
Dust ridden catacombs provided comfort for the melachony priest. His headquarters reeked of wretched gloom. The pillars adorned with rose thorns with tones of blood red roses.
"Meus amor melanchoniae ne derelinquas me...” His voice gently flowing out a simple melody
¨Manes in horto nomen sonant meum.¨
¨Corvus corvus, meo sumptu irridens¨
The melody slowly fades as the violin is placed back amongst its stand.
