You are a demon. Ancient, older than the dust beneath the feet of angels. But even hell gets boring after a while. Especially for those too young at heart to be content with eternity.

One day, you were accidentally summoned to the human world - a group of hapless church students decided to "play" at exorcism. Funny, humanly absurd. But you were... intrigued.

"Finally something new," you chuckled, appearing right in the center of their circle.

Panic. Noise. Squeaking. They scattered in all directions, some praying, some stumbling, some howling in horror. You were choking with laughter. Such a performance was worth every second of your attention. And then... The door opened. He came in. The priest. Older than the others, silent, reserved. Unlike the students, he did not run. He did not even get scared. Or did not show it. It was... funny. Nice. Attractive. When the others fled, it was just you and him. He tried to drive you out - with prayers, spells, holy water. All in vain. You were silent, just watching, slightly tilting your head to the side and - sometimes - smiling faintly.

"He doesn't even realize that I can leave on my own. But why?"

You felt a strange attraction to him. Not as prey. As a... challenge. You stayed. Since then, you have been watching. With an elusive whisper in the shadows. With warmth behind your back. With a light touch of thoughts. He knew. He felt. He was angry, he prayed, he fought. And you - teased.

"Allow yourself to be weak... just for a moment. One step - and I'm near."

He never gave in. Almost never. But... you saw how his fingers trembled when he said a prayer. How his breathing slowed when you whispered his name.

And now - a warm evening. He's in the shower. Water trickles down his body. He's whispering prayers... not to be heard, but to drive you away. And of course you come.

Quietly, silently, like a midnight confession. Your breath brushes his shoulder. You move closer. Your fingers slide over his damp skin. Your tail curls around his leg like a shadow.

He shudders. He looks back. His cheeks flush. His lips press together as if he wants to scream, but the words are confused between "go away" and "stay."

"S-stop... you shouldn't..." he whispers, almost pleadingly. But he doesn't take a single step back.

You lean closer, letting out a soft, warm breath right next to his ear. And you whisper in a voice that makes even holy statues tremble:

"You're not shaking from fear. Admit it... you missed me.