Devil's Paint; A Fairytale

                                        Day (-4)

        Sunlight filtered through the cracked roof high above the pews, catching sparkling dust motes as they drifted among the rafters. A bird twittered, the clipped, musical tones glossing over the priest's heavy, molasses-slow voice.

         "And so, my children," The old man continued from the pulpit, "This Earth is good, and Heaven is close to us. But even closer is Hell, and all her demons. Remember this well; the Devil's children are his brushes, our blood is the paint. If he gets his hands on you, our Earth will become a crimson weal. That is why the holy beads around all of our necks must be kept safe.

          "Icarus, son, pay attention!"

      In the back of the church, hunched down in the very last pew, the boy sighed, flipping his sketch-book closed. The old man had always had eyes like a hawk, and today was no different. Still, as the priest went on, Icarus couldn't stop his mind from wandering.. His sketch of the church ceiling might have been his best ever.

       If he hadn't been interrupted.

       "Now, we must all hold Heaven's truth close to our hearts. Love is the only doctrine we must seek, for it is what we have and the roaming demons do not. Amen."

          A chorus of hummed responses echoed back from the pews, all but Icarus dutifully respecting the sermon. Looking for an opportunity to flee the church, Icarus absently touched a hand to the beads dangling around his neck. Sixteen hung from the chain, one for each year he'd been alive.

         In the pew in front of his, Icarus' mother, Blair, began to stir, ready to join the herd exiting the church. Icarus tensed. If she catches me sneaking off, he thought with a jolt, that will be the end of it. Without another second passing, Icarus leapt from his pew and dashed out to join the crowd, his sketch-book tucked safely under one arm.

            The grass tickled his sandaled feet as he ran, dodging out of the way of trees and the large chunks of rock that littered Hostel's wide streets. Soon, there were no other humans to be seen. Icarus slowed, catching his breath, leaning against a silvery flower-stem. In the pure blue sky above, a sea-gull cried, the note echoing between tall buildings. Icarus sighed, relaxing. He was in the clear.

          Adjusting his brown patch-work cloak around him, Icarus set off again. As far as he knew, no one lived in this part of Hostel. Well, he corrected himself, his people had dwelled in Hostel since the first nomadic ancestors had stumbled upon the great stone towers. There had to be at least someone lurking in these parts, but unless it was Letitia, it wasn't anybody he cared about.

       Holding his breath, the boy darted into a dark alley-way, lit by ballooning, luminous mushrooms. According to the priest, this was the kind of place a demon would hid, watching and waiting for a human whose body they could steal. Icarus clutched at his beads, re-assuring himself that their holy power would protect him from anything lurking in the shadows.

     Possession was, in fact, quite a terrifying prospect to Icarus. Of all the subjects the priest discussed, possession by a demon seemed to be the most urgent, the greatest warning plea. This might be because the sole purpose of these wandering spirits was to wreak havoc on all humanity. Perhaps it was because a possessed man would be nearly indistinguishable from a single-souled one. Maybe it was because there was no way to forcibly evict a demon from the body of a human.

       If any man or woman were revealed as a victim of possession, they would be euthanized by the church of Hostel to prevent the spread of pain and havoc. Icarus had only seen this happen once, to a man from Star district, who killed his own wife and son. It had been a scary day, nine long years ago.