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"Quiet, demon," you silently chide the voice in your head.
The demon's contrarian and argumentative nature has left a sharp pain throbbing in the side of your head, as if someone had begun drilling into your temple with an awl. Perhaps not that bad, truly. At least her nagging has left you with a better understand of the nature of your curse-mark. The Arbiter's lance of corruption must have forced a minor demon into your body, strong enough to be heard but weak enough to be forced down by your will. Commanded to play the role of your shadow, digging through your dark thoughts and giving them a voice.
It's an ingenious form of corruption. You must take care to be mindful, and weigh each thought against a feather, lest you find your heart sliding past the moral boundaries the demon will certainly push. Once you return to civilized lands, you will need to requisition a demon-seal shroud from the Church.
<span class="mu-s">[Heck yeah, that would look <span class="mu-i">cool</span>!]</span> again the demon shows its knack for digging up the thoughts you thought you buried at the back of your mind. Insidious beast. Its mood changes like the wind after a moment's contemplation. <span class="mu-s">[Wait, no! We don't need one, <span class="mu-i">Alex</span> does. We've seen how he is, that <span class="mu-i">vincula</span> has him bound to his bed. If it's not suppressed, he might sleep forever!]</span>
"A chain devil...?" you muse. You do not trust this demon, not one bit, but the name of that demon knocked loose the memories of a few old texts. You cannot help but say, "That would explain... no, that's beyond the point. I said <span class="mu-i">silence</span>, demon."
You spit those last words aloud, causing the maids to take a step back. The most senior among them - a woman with short black hair and gold-rimmed spectacles - asks you, "Are these dresses not to your liking, Miss Louise? I can have Addie fetch another set?"
<span class="mu-s">[Darn right, they're not!]</span> the demon in your head shouts.
You ignore the demon and apologize to the maid, "Forgive me, my mind has been wandering. Let us go with this dress here; I've heard such things are in fashion in the capital."
The memory fell off script when the maid asked you about the dresses, so you see no reason to cleave to you memories as though they were set in stone. At the age of nineteen, a year after Charlemont and the end of the retributive campaign into Alans, you had no clue what court women wore. So you picked the incredibly flouncy dress that looks like it belongs on one of your sister's dolls. A dress that still holds a special place in your wardrobe, the King having made a gift of it in celebration of your knighting.
