Wonders of Heresy (Bendy and the Ink Machine)

8- Daniel

"Keep on loving one another as brothers and sisters. Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it." - Hebrews 13:1-2

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The newly named beings were content for a moment, even in their unimaginable turmoil. They had each other. It wasn't much, but they had each other.

How long was it before they both secretly started to stir, to long for something else? As always, each had a quite different reason than their counterpart. The woman's was simple: the apartment was small, and she was increasingly unsettled the longer they stayed. Maybe it was the sharp taste of salt staining her throat with each can of bacon soup, only to be quenched by water that only sometimes was without a grey stream of ink from the faucet. Maybe it was how the walls seemed to close in, growing tighter and tighter as she walked down the short corridor between the three rooms. Maybe it was the collage of monstrosities she found tucked behind a corner, making her scream so loudly that Sammy ran to her side. She noticed the way he pulled her back, the manner he dragged her into his side with a gasp of his own, the tone in his voice when he saw she was only surprised by a collection of pictures upon the wall and apologized for having grabbed her with no purpose, how he forgot to scold her for screaming at all.

Francine noticed how he seemed to stir, too, and it added to her anxiousness.

The novelty of recent events was of great distraction, but even the personification of everything he ever wanted couldn't cease his yearning, his prayers. Sammy had a routine for decades after all, a well-worn path that felt so deeply unnatural to stray. His worship was his life. Despite feeling that somehow, certainly, all this with the woman was for Bendy and done in his name, it still ached so much to tread the waters of the unknown.

Sammy had hoped in vain that strumming the banjo they had found would be enough to quench his fires as they rose from the ashes; it was not satisfying to his own standards of faith. As this dawned upon him over the period of rest, it drifted beyond his heart and the woman could see his clenched fists and hear his soft groans. The murky varnish of demons couldn't smother the anguish of his soul, even as it crawled over and inside every inch of his body.

How long had it been? Maybe a day. Maybe a few. It was enough for the two disciples to hunger too irresistibly for something they'd seen before- the very same thing.

"It's time," he suddenly spoke. The woman found Sammy in front of her as she awoke on the gurney, her eyes squinting since they were still unused the such a dark, shiny figure covering so much of her vision.

She shifted one of her arms to lift herself just a little, unwilling to fully come back from much needed rest. "...H...huh?"

The prophet's mask stared down upon her; even as it looked nothing like the being itself, what that face represented was still hard to take in as it hid someone she thoughtlessly wanted to accept. Francine had a knack for reading his body language- had no choice in the matter, honestly- but she only caught an inkling of an emotion: that he was determined.

"The believers must honor their savior." This statement rung so fervently, despite it being recited so, so many times in his life. It was a psalm that would never lose its meaning. He noticed the scrunch of the cloth under her fingers in nervousness, and so he was aware it required elaboration. "I'm going back to the domain of hymns, the...place we were before, where I offer the ink demon my prayers." She could only assume he meant the music hall. She physically perked up at this idea; it was the only room that had truly brought her comfort. She could easily feel again how mesmerized she was surrounded by the instruments, how it reminded her of home. This sentiment was enough to ignore what the earlier statement of his could mean. And just as she thought all this, he spoke once more.