for priestly_demon
From here
"That does sound awful," Remiel said, patronizing him slightly. Most of his attention was on Michael, rather than what he was saying, watching him fight his way to the inevitable slumber. As the young man mumbled the last question, and both eyes were finally closed, the Grigori smiled. "Oh, undoubtedly. Very real indeed." His tone was soothing as if whispering a lullaby.
As Michael slept, Remiel placed a hand over his face, fingers touching around his eyes and softly intoned a spell to enter his dreams. Not yet revealing himself to the subconscious Michael, he looked around at the very same garden from earlier. There in front of them was the statue of the crucifix.
...
Staring at the statue in wonder, Michael, in his dream state, remembered nothing of the fearful events just waking moments before. At this moment, it was a picture of inspiration. Prayer and contemplation. Good works and faith. Whether he intended to or not, he was clutching his Rosary and praying to the holiest of mothers.
All was peaceful. All was serene. Worry and fear were replaced by a calm certainty that God was watching over them all - both good and evil alike.
Then he felt it. In this sanctuary designed for inspiration and faith, a feeling of impending horror descended. Michael began to toss away from Father Jez and toward the other side of the bed, but only ever so slightly.
In his dream, technically, nothing had changed. Eventually, the gut instinct to inspect his surroundings, went away and he walked up to the statue, turning and taking a seat at the foot of the statue, looking at the bench in front.
"That does sound awful," Remiel said, patronizing him slightly. Most of his attention was on Michael, rather than what he was saying, watching him fight his way to the inevitable slumber. As the young man mumbled the last question, and both eyes were finally closed, the Grigori smiled. "Oh, undoubtedly. Very real indeed." His tone was soothing as if whispering a lullaby.
As Michael slept, Remiel placed a hand over his face, fingers touching around his eyes and softly intoned a spell to enter his dreams. Not yet revealing himself to the subconscious Michael, he looked around at the very same garden from earlier. There in front of them was the statue of the crucifix.
...
Staring at the statue in wonder, Michael, in his dream state, remembered nothing of the fearful events just waking moments before. At this moment, it was a picture of inspiration. Prayer and contemplation. Good works and faith. Whether he intended to or not, he was clutching his Rosary and praying to the holiest of mothers.
All was peaceful. All was serene. Worry and fear were replaced by a calm certainty that God was watching over them all - both good and evil alike.
Then he felt it. In this sanctuary designed for inspiration and faith, a feeling of impending horror descended. Michael began to toss away from Father Jez and toward the other side of the bed, but only ever so slightly.
In his dream, technically, nothing had changed. Eventually, the gut instinct to inspect his surroundings, went away and he walked up to the statue, turning and taking a seat at the foot of the statue, looking at the bench in front.