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angellayercake · 1 year

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when true love's kiss

Papa Emeritus III x Reader | Papa Emeritus III x OC

from this slumber you shall wake | AO3

After waking up in his glass coffin Papa has travelled back to the Abbey in search of something he needs to regain his true strength. This is a sequel to from this slumber you shall wake and for @petrifyingpapas resurrection prompt

TW for choking and murder

It was a nightly procession, a ritual completed in reverence to her lover. Her dead lover. It begins as the sun starts to dip beneath the horizon, sitting at the half empty vanity she applies his paint in slow steady strokes. Her dull eyes staring out of his face, the familiar paint only causing a dull throb in her heart where once it had inspired overwhelming love, then after, overwhelming despair. She had learned the shapes and contours painting his face before his rituals, mass, meetings. It was a small intimacy, one of many they had shared but she had always preferred helping him wash it away. Removing Papa and revealing her lover underneath. The man only she got to see. No more though. When she washed the paint away she only saw her own ashen face. He would forever be resting as Papa or at least she thought.

As darkness falls across the room she affixes her veil draping the dark material over her face, the delicate lace pooling around her waist as she sits. Her reflection shows the shadow she has become, her old life just a silhouette underneath a shroud of darkness. She adds the final touch, pulling on her gloves lace covering the last glimpses of skin, the golden claws another signature of his, glinting in the muted light. She must stare at herself for a moment longer sitting motionless, where her gaze lands is lost in the shadow but what else is there to see but herself. Suddenly she stands and the next stage of her ritual begins.

She walks through the corridors like a ghost. If you really tried you might hear the whisper of her skirts against the tile but you couldn’t distinguish her footsteps or the choked sobs that rise from within her. Any siblings lingering in the hallways move aside lest they interrupt her procession now, long since startled by her presence. It had been a shock the first time they had witnessed this ritual. The once warm and charming Prime Mover, dead in all but body along with her Papa. No one saw her for weeks after and then she began her mourning ritual which continued and then continued until now, a year on from his murder she still hadn’t ceased.

Her procession ends in the Chapel of Lilith now, but she had worked her way through them all. Satan, Belial then Lucifer, Belezebub, Asmodeous, then Behemoth but her prayers had not been heeded. None had borne witness to her nightly vigils, leaving her to commune with her chosen demon in privacy, but it was not hard to guess at the subject of her prayers. For him to be returned to her, for her to be able to join him in hell, for the ones responsible to receive their due punishment but when she had finally seemed to give up hope for an answer to her prayers she took solace with Lillith.

She kneels before the statue as is her usual custom, her bare feet visible now under her layers of skirts, a surprise given her carefully layered dress but perhaps she needs some way to feel grounded, just that small connection to the reality she is forced to live in now without her Papa. Her reminder that she is still here and still alive even if she doesn’t feel like it. Her head is bowed, the long veil obscuring most of her body now she has made herself small before Lilith praying for the strength to go on. Although she has followed all the same steps, completed all the same measures, there is something different about this night. A year on from his death to the day there is a finality in her manner as she prays. Is it that her mourning period is coming to a close? She has spoken to none but the demons she had begged for relief since she learned of his demise but as she whispers her mysterious requests to the mother of all evil her body begins to shake. The rosary that had been clutched in between her fingers clatters to the floor as her prayer ends as she slowly, carefully draws up the front of her veil revealing her painted face, the silent tears she had wept leaving wet grey streaks in their path. Her eyes are locked on the statue as if waiting for something to happen.

A rush of wind fills the chapel whipping around her, her veil and clothes disturbed by its strength and just before it dies every candle in the room extinguishes simultaneously; the only light left is the muted beam of moonlight shining through the window above the altar. A haze of smoke from the candles hangs in the air as she twists and turns looking for the cause of the sudden gusts but in her frantic search she misses the slow moving shadow at the end of the pews. Turning back to the statue she stares up at unmoving face, scrabbling to pick up her discarded rosary without taking her eyes off it.

‘What does it mean?’ Her voice is broken and dry from disuse and her suddenly dry mouth. She had wanted a sign, whether she should move on, give up hope, try to just keep him as a fond memory and had been given this. ‘Please what does it mean?’ The tears that never really stopped cascade down her cheeks, her shock and confusion overwhelming her after all this time.

‘It means you have been loyal.’ She freezes when she hears his voice not even remembering to breathe. It must be a trick she would recognise that voice anywhere but it just couldn’t be. His heavy footsteps echo through the otherwise silent room and she can almost sense the disturbance of the air, everything else is so still as if in anticipation of their reunion. ‘It means mia regina,’ she shudders every memory of him calling her that running through her mind at once. ‘That you will be able to help your Papa return to this world and take back what is rightfully his.’

She turns to him slowly where he has come to a stop conveniently in the pool of moonlight. As much as this is what she had been praying for she seemed almost reluctant to look at him, scared of what she might see. He is alive, somehow, that is obvious, but something about him is very wrong. There is a stiffness to how he holds himself upright and his eyes are no longer filled with love and joy and life just malice.

‘Terzo,’ she sighs, an acceptance that he really is standing there in front of her as haggard as he looks. His vestments are creased, his paint flaking away. He looks exactly like he has been laid in state for a year. ‘How?’ The shock and her lack of practice speaking make it almost impossible to articulate anything more. He smiles, well smirks, there is no warmth there but it draws over his face almost in slow motion, like the muscles need time to remember how to react to his body's commands.

‘Someone wished very hard for me to be returned to them, no matter the cost.’ He continues coming closer, his jerky uneven steps getting more sure the more he moves. Still on her knees she crawls back until she is sat at the base of the statue, hoping that Lilith will heed her prayers one more time, her instinct told her she would need it more than ever. When he reaches the altar steps he collapses with none of his natural grace, bracing himself on his hands and hissing in pain, his joints unnaturally stiff from his time at rest. But he continues on towards her until he is close enough to touch.

‘You missed me amore?’ He whispers and she winces at the understatement.

‘Yes,’ She hadn’t just missed him, her whole existence had ground to a halt. She wanted so desperately to reach out and touch him, confirm that he was truly there, real and in front of her but something stayed her hand.

‘You prayed for me?’ His face is cast in shadow now and looks all the more sinister for it. Up this close she could see his muscles twitching to maintain his expression like someone else was trying to control them.

‘Yes,’ She twists her rosary between her fingers, the clicking of the beads drawing his attention before his hand closes over hers, stilling her nervous fidgeting. Feeling his touch even through the gloves steals the breath from her lungs.

‘Then help me finish what you started?’ He dips his head drawing her attention away from where his hand clasps hers.

‘How?’ The smile he wears grows at her lack of dismissal anticipating that she will agree to his demands.

‘Give yourself to me.’ She nods slowly unsure of exactly what he meant but as she looked into his eyes she saw a glimpse of the man she loved, something inside of him begging and pleading her to help him and she knew she would do anything he asked. He reaches for her with his gloved hand cupping the back of her neck, drawing her towards him. She can feel how warm he is through the tight leather and the pinprick pressure of his nails transports her back to memories of smooth soft leather contrasting with the cold sharp nails as he stripped her leaving his mark on her bare skin night after night.

He barely has to guide her now she is caught in his trap, she comes easily kneeling up to meet him halfway. His distinctive scent, though stale, fills her senses and she is ensnared. He could ask anything of her and she would do everything in her power to grant it. She thought or perhaps hoped that he would kiss her, help her remember the feeling of him against her once again, but first she felt his other hand circle her neck and it seemed to break her from her reverie. She tried to pull back, eyes widening in shock but he had regained more strength than he had let on and as his grip tightened she could not break free.

Her windpipe was closing and his sharp nails bit into her skin sharply as he squeezed tighter and tighter. She clawed at his wrists trying anything to lessen his grip but he did not falter his wide manic eyes boring into hers. As panic began to take hold she reached for his face, his eyes anything to allow her to breath but even as she managed to slice his cheek he didn’t flinch so set on her destruction. As her vision tunnelled, her body shutting down due to lack of oxygen she realised what he had needed all along. He needed her life. She was foolish to wish for his return, naïve to think it would come at no cost. In her grief she had forgotten the fundamentals of the world, the balance that must always be maintained. All the fight left her then, if her life was what he wanted then he could take it, she had spent the last year living as a shadow now she could allow the darkness to embrace her completely. His cruel victorious smile is the last thing she sees as her vision dims, acknowledging her surrender and the last thing she feels before everything else fades away is the press of his rough lips, so soft in comparison to his deadly grip but she clung to that feeling knowing it would sustain her wherever it was she would end up.

You watch him kneel over her body, lying her back gently as her life force leaves her, flowing into him in twisting translucent tendrils. You keep quiet not wanting to interrupt his moment. He didn’t seem sad though. He had been resigned about what he must do as you had surreptitiously travelled here to the Abbey, almost sullen and disinterested with all your questions. But once he was on the grounds it was like he was possessed with a new vigour. Perhaps returning to the location of his murder had impassioned him but you could see the difference almost instantly. He had been most impatient with you as you had slotted back into Abbey life so you could report back to him. Nothing you did was good enough but perhaps now he would be happy with you. You had delivered him the final piece of his plan. The soul of his Prime Mover. He had never explained to you exactly why he needed it. You had offered him yours and he had only scoffed but seeing your disappointment he softened slightly explaining that it was not your role to sacrifice yourself for him, not yet any way, that he had much bigger plans for you. Your heart had swollen with pride at that, that he would entrust you with such important tasks but he was hard to please and you tried so so hard. He straightens up leaving her prone at the foot of the statue ending your time for rumination.

‘We need to leave now, little one.’ He sounds stronger already and any lingering regret you had about her fate fades away. She had been wasting her life anyway; her soul would be much better served empowering her Papa.

‘Do you want me to do anything with her?’ She was in a better place now but part of you wondered whether it was right to just leave her there but he turns on you with a fire in his eyes.

‘No let them find her. Let them guess at what power I now possess. Let her be a warning. I wonder if they will heed it.’ He looks down at her tracing along the smudged lines of their shared face paint. ‘She was so beautiful. It was a shame it had to come to this but I need to be at full strength for what is to come.’ He stands movements much more fluid, he looks healthier, more alive now and you marvel at him. The more you learn, the more you see, the more you crave his presence and his approval. When you had gazed at him through the glass you had never dreamed you would get to be his right hand, his confidant yet here you are helping him to steal away into the night, back into hiding until he was ready to make his next move. As you hold the door for him you notice him pause, looking back at her. He is right, she was beautiful you think. She is bathed in moonlight now, laying as a beautiful sacrifice at the altar of Lilith but when you look at him you see the first hints of sadness.

‘Did you love her Papa?’ He looks away but pauses before he answers.

‘Maybe, once, but what was more important was that she loved me. That was all that I needed.’ There is resignation, you think in his voice rather than regret but you hate to see him feeling that way at all. You believe he must do what he needs to do even if he will not yet reveal his reasons to you.

‘I love you Papa.’ You sense at this moment he needs that reminder.

‘I know little one and you still have your role to play.’ He turns away after one last long look at his past love but you reach for his hand as you notice the darkness beginning to lift. A rich sense of satisfaction fills you as you hurry into the dawn. She was his past but you were his future.

#petrifyingpapas #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus iii #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfiction #my writing #terzo

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