She cried and begged constantly. When Eunice spoke, she spoke calmly and clearly, projecting past the woman in her mind that told her to stop, begged her to listen.

She was tiring out, though.

Eunice had been hysterical for a weeks now, nearly from sun up to sun down. She was slowly learning not to bother reasoning and just kept the brain that contained them both awash with grief and fright, silently mourning all the damage being done in her name, with her hands. No more screaming, at least.

The Devil had a handful of senses at Its disposal, certainly, but what it saw most was openings. Opportunities for misunderstanding, misleading, fatal manipulation. Places to leave pockets of corruption. It wasn't hiding much anymore, but it blended in well with the asylum – very few people had wondered about her change of heart.

It could be referred to as any gender; it could see above, below, and behind. When it really let go in Jude's former office, Eunice would swing her legs up on the desk and read the paper – or scheme – and filth would drip down her body, unearthly, seeping from pores, clumping in her fine blonde hair. Oily, thick, and smelling of gasoline and burnt flesh, she'd leave marks all over the carpet and wooden floors when she danced around the room. Nurses would knock on the door and be ushered in to find her on hands and knees, scrubbing the floor, exasperated. "Spilled my coffee again," she'd sigh. "I'm so clumsy. It's a wonder God accepts me in His house, seeing as I'm just going to dirty it up."

That much was true. Eunice had done a lot of dirtying.

She made sure to perpetually dominate Arden, which wreaked hell on his psyche, and she could see it in the way he ignored her from day to day. He fed the creatures in the woods himself most days while Eunice went through the things in his office and smiled at the occasional dirty magazine. His dirty magazines ranged from putrid to virgin-clean. Women bound up and gagged and women flashing their ankles. She had to stifle laughter on occasion, flipping through impatiently, looking for the good stuff and finding where he had drawn pubic hair on some of the bare models. What a freak. And they thought he was doing research down here?

He did do research when she was around, at least.

They had taken on an odd dynamic, and Arden didn't like it. She was the supervisor, he was the worker. He caught her chomping on one of his cigars once, and had nearly hit her for it, which would've nearly broken the old Mary Eunice – this one just grinned and hit him straight in the face, hard, for considering laying that hand on her.

One day, after a few moments of arguing, she nicked one of his favorite magazines from under a filing cabinet and left the room with it hidden under her habit. Arden had stormed off to apparently collect hair samples from patients and had just barely missed her stealing away into his office.

Weasel-swift, she stole down the hallway, up the staircase and into her- Jude's old office- and threw the magazine onto her desk. She pushed papers around, rearranging stacks, looking- looking for a small slip of paper with a note from Arden days ago, a note in his handwriting, prompting her to meet him in the woods.

What went unspoken in the note was that they were arranging a feeding for the Raspers – but without this context, she straightened the crumpled paper out, flipped and flipped through the magazine to a particularly sinful page, stuck the note on top of the page, stepped back, and screamed.

It wasn't a blood-curdling noise. It wasn't even a particularly frightened scream. It was, though, a scream of disgust and surprise, just loud enough to prick the ears of the Timothy Howard, who had been on his way downstairs. Spinning on a heel, he hurried – he never truly ran, he thought it unbecoming – to her door and knocked thrice.

"Sister?"

Sobbing, a cough to clear a throat, a strangled noise of upset. Distinctly feminine. "Oh, come here, please, Monseigneur."

Mary Eunice hadn't cried in a while, he wondered as he opened the door. Her resolved seemed to have toughened, but here was the familiar image of her with a hand clasped over her mouth, eyes reddened and swimming in tears.

"What's wrong? Sister, what's happening?" There seemed to be nothing unusual in the room, no cause for this upset. He closed the door carefully, ensuring privacy between them.

"It's this," she choked, sniffling as she gestured to something on her desk. As he approached, his heart dropped – what in God's name was this doing here?

"I just-" she took a long, shaky breath, cleared her throat, and tried again. "I just came in, I was working with Arden- and he- and he left the room to get something- told me to stay-" His brows furrowed and he inhaled, looking at the woman splayed between two full pages, legs fully spread. "He told me to stay in his lab but I realized I had forgotten – I had forgotten my clipboard, so I came back to get it-" she indicated to her clipboard - "and this was on my desk, it's his handwriting, I don't understand-"

MEET ME IN THE FOREST TONIGHT

No signature, but he knew the handwriting and crossed himself. "This is repugnant," he started as she wailed and buried her head in her hands – he put a gentlemanly arm around her and she leaned into him. "I nearly don't want to understand. This is a true derailment of judgment, indeed."

"He's so nice to me," she gasped, fine blonde hair spilling out from under her the hood of her habit – Timothy Howard gently reached down and tucked the stray lock back under. "I never thought he'd be- so impure- I've worked with him so much and I never thought-"

"I'll get rid of this," the Monseigneur spat, gathering the filthy magazine and the piece of paper in one hand. "This shouldn't be here. We've known for a long time that Doctor Arden proclaimed no real faith," he continued heavily. "But I didn't expect him to cross this line so severely."

There was a sudden elephant in the room as Eunice continued to cry, silently, and the Monseigneur pulled her just a tad closer to his side. "...You say he never laid a hand on you, correct?"

She nodded. Tearfully, but she nodded, thank God.

He looked down at the incriminating paper in his hands. The handwriting felt like a slap, the curves of each letter a terrible confession.

"I'll speak to him."

Mary Eunice jolted out from under his arm, turning to him, face inches from his. He noted the fine lines between her eyebrows, at the corners of her mouth, her wide eyes, lips pink without lipstick. A beautiful woman. How dare Arden. Eunice placed a hand on his upper chest and whispered, "You can't tell him."

"I think it's best if we bring this act out in the open. I don't want him working with you if we're not sure what he's- if he can't be trusted, Sister. I want no harm to come to you."

"It's fine," she said, lowering her eyes- demure, he noted. She pressed a wrist to her eyes and took a deep breath, stepping back. "It's fine. I'm fine. We still have work to do together, I don't want to ruin our work relationship."

Timothy Howard watched her, troubled. "If you insist. I'll dispose of these, in the meantime, and Sister, if you could... let me know if anything else happens. Tell me immediately."

"Understood." She was rearranging her hair already, back straightened, tears gone. How resilient. Always putting work first.

"Thank you for... being so steadfast. Your contribution to this institution is immeasurable."

"Always full of compliments," she mumbled, wiping away the last of the tears, hiding a smile with her head lowered. "Could you possibly do me a favor?"

He was a step from the door, but turned, evidence still in hand. "Anything."

"Please double your prayers tonight. One for Arden. I would hate to compromise his soul over something.. petty like this. I know you'll understand. He may need some forgiveness."

The Monseigneur held her eye contact, heavy brows quirked, until he broke out in a smile and bowed his head. "Heaven most certainly has a spot for you, dearest Mary-Eunice."

Her smile was radiant, hands clasped, watching him leave. It wasn't until after the lock clicked that she kicked her shoes off to separate corners of the room, slid the habit off and broke out the whiskey for mischief well done.