Etrigan makes an obscene sigh of pleasure in his head. He can see the demon, running that too-long tongue over his lips as the demon tastes the girl's anguish and fury. Drinks it down like wine. Gluts himself with it.

Some days Jason wishes he was still capable of being nauseated by this sensation, by the vicarious, sick pleasure that radiates to him through their bond in such moments.

The best he can do is remain impassive, to pretend he feels nothing.

"Well-done," he says distantly. "Hold on to the feelings. Keep them in your head, in your heart." Keep feeding Etrigan.

He stares at the bowl. The surface of the bowl begins to ripple as if raindrops are hitting it, as if drums were making the surface vibrate. That much, the child can see, but the images belong only to him, courtesy of the bargain he makes with Etrigan in every waking moment.

A black sky. A field of wheeling, unfamiliar stars-- no industrialized pollution here to cancel them out, or dull their brilliance. The sullen red glow of fires over stone walls.

"Betrayal," he murmurs, but she knows that, it is nothing new. "The lion's roar spurs the twins to treachery..."

A woman, proud of features but looking tired, exhausted, drained by struggle.

The same woman, her throat slit. A fox gnaws on it in his vision.

"Her throat was slit," Jason says, his voice and eyes both distant.