This is a dark fantasy, inspired by a podcast about a "real" exorcist. Tricking vulnerable people into thinking they're possessed is an incredibly fucked up thing to do in real life, even if you yourself believe in demons/ghosts/etc. Like sex, religion should always be consentual, which means free of manipulation (perhaps with a minimum age for participation as well.)
Anyway, I'm working on more stories in this world as a side project while I plod through the final draft of Trappers Bend. The fictional religion here should be a little better fleshed out in future stories.
Feedback is always welcome. Hope you enjoy the smut!
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"Where am I?" Angela mumbled again, blearily. The Priest waited, watching. This time, her eyelids started to flutter, slitting open just enough. She was coming back, praise God. He nodded towards the entrance of the room, and watched the door quietly close.
"You're safe, child," Father August said. "For now."
Her eyes blinked, seeming to struggled to look at him. She was lying on an oak platform, covered with thin padding, beneath which were engraved the names of saints and martyrs. The official church name for it was a Plane of Demonic Expulsion. He thought of it as his exorcism futon.
"Father?" she asked. "What..." she reached up and touched the ring through her septum, and winced.
"Oh, no," she said, horror dawning across her face.
"You're safe here," the priest repeated. "So let's just take this one step at a time, okay?"
The petite, dark haired girl reached her hand up to touch her hair. It was short now, asymmetrical, the bangs hanging low over here eyes.
"Please, just focus on my voice. Confronting the..." the priest swallowed, "the
changes
too quickly could lead to you succumbing to malign influence again. Just focus on this conversation. Can you sit up?"
The girl sat up, letting out a surprised yelp as the tight clothes shifted on her body.
"oh, God," she whispered, looking down. "What did that heathen bitch do to-"
"You shall not pervert her tongue, devil!" the priest boomed, standing up quickly.
Her eyes opened wide, followed by her mouth a moment later.
"No! No, you're wrong! I've served the church since I was a child! Don't even imply that I'm possessed."
The priest sat down slowly, sharing a look of melancholy sympathy.
"Your mind is still clouded, child. I will lead you through this one step at a time, okay?"
She nodded, pulling her feet up, self-consciously positioning herself beneath the Ward of Expulsion ostentatiously inscribed in the ceiling. The Church's exorcism lore was obscured by an elaborate technocracy. Little of it was literally forbidden knowledge, but the majority of it was obscured behind multiple layers of scholarship, convention, bureaucracy, and reticence. However, one thing every child of the church knew that a demoniac wouldn't willingly subject itself to this particular power symbol, and it was clear from her expression that she believed this would clear the matter up. The priest didn't seem to notice — perhaps because, as a priest, he knew that it was more of a rule of thumb than an iron law.
Demons didn't occupy a particular point in time and space — they were nowhere and everywhere — so even an effective Ward of Expulsion might only temporarily suppress the manifestation of a demon. Furthermore, the ward would only work if the faith of the demoniac were sincere (as well as the priest's faith, though in practice the latter was beyond question). And of course, when the Ward didn't work, it was treated as proof that the demoniac's faith was not sincere.
"What do you remember last?"
"I was bringing home a lost soul, Father. A girl named Tabitha."
"A friend?" The priest asked.
"Friend in God," she responded with a pure, pious look, going just a bit sour around the edges.
It was a term that meant they were bound by the will of God, rather than just by mortal affection. In theory, it didn't exclude normal friendship — the best friends of saints and martyrs were also Friends in God. But so were vulgar nonbelievers who a member was called on to proselytize.
"The Bishop has foreseen her redemption," she continued, her face a picture of long-suffering religious devotion. "Her family is influential, so it will be a great victory for the Church."
"And what sort of character does this Tabitha have?"
The girl scowled. "Really, it is not for me to judge, Father."
August touched his necklace. "May the lord unbind this child's tongue."
The girl gasped at a sudden movement from the corner of the room. An attendant who had been sitting perfectly still walked towards her with solemn determination. He was a huge man, and his veiled, fierce eyes under bushy brows looked down at her. She physically recoiled as he threw a pinch of salt at her, then silently walked away. Angela felt a pang of fear at the priest's look. Why would she recoil from salt, if she weren't possessed?
"Fight the demon's influence child. Tell me honestly: what sort of character does this Tabitha have?"
The girl's eyes looked glazed.
Chastened,
the priest thought, approvingly.
"She is an atheist and a harlot, father. She dates a new boy practically every semester, and she has drinking parties over at her house. And she thinks she's... she takes great pride in her intellect."
"And how did you endeavor to win her for the Lord?"
Angela reached into the pocket of her cutoffs. She dug her hands into her pockets, rooting through them with a look of increasing disbelief.
"Where is it, Father? I wouldn't lose it, I swear — I know to protect sacred knowledge from all enemies!"
"As do I," the Priest picked up the small flash drive from the table in front of him and rotating it so the Sigil of Truth flashed in the dim light.
She looked down, self-doubt creeping into her expression. "So you know I was supposed to sanctify her laptop. The Prayer for Skeptics, and the Rebuke of Credulous Disbelief. Graduation is in 3 weeks, and she's on the laptop for hours every day, which means thousands and thousands of repetitions. It should be plenty of time time for the word of God to enter her heart."
"And you were to to be her witness?" he asked, a little quickly.
"Yes, I was. I mean I am. What... what's the date, father? How long have I been, uh, gone?"
"One thing at a time, child. Please, answer my question."
She nodded and took a breath. "Yes. I was laying the groundwork by testifying to my miracles."
The priest raised an eyebrow. Miraculate Attestations required one to directly witness a miracle, either in person or (no doubt, in this case) through church-sanctioned revelation. How had such a young woman earned the church's confidence? And why had she been sent to him?
She seemed to mistake his reaction for doubt.
"Assigned by Bishop Cameron. Otherwise I wouldn't presume to have the authority to..." she trailed off. "I could recite them if you don't believe me."
"In the guise of a... disreputable woman," he asked, severely, his eyes looking over her.
She covered her septum piercing reflexively, then moved her hand down again, fire in her eyes.
