"Get off me! Let me go!"

Tiffany knew her pleadings were useless. A primal instinct to survive roared to life from within her and it was forcing her to do things she never thought possible. She never realised that tonight she would have to beg for her life. What right did Peter and his son have to do this to her? Questions absorbed Tiffany's mind, crying at how unfair life had become.

There was always something about Tiffany. Three separate groups of people have wanted her – Frederick Valentine, the Bellisario family, and now Peter and his son. They have all wanted her for different reasons, but they still wanted her nonetheless. Tiffany always knew there was something different about her but she still had no idea what that was...

Whatever it was, it was reason enough for people to want her dead.

"Keep hold of her Puerbardis," Peter commanded to his son. The man in the robe who had Tiffany grasped tight in his arms allowed Puerbardis to use his strength to keep Tiffany under control. As they transferred Tiffany to each other, she could feel the arms of the man under the robe. His arms were frail, like twigs, but his upper-body strength was undeniable. Puerbardis's arms however felt like they were ready to explode. Every time he put Tiffany in his arms, she could feel something inside of her snap. She would rather die than spend the rest of her life with this beast.

The more Tiffany thought about it, the more she compared him to her ex-boyfriend Spence. He hurt her too. Emotionally he hurt her, while Puerbardis was hurting her physically, every time he touched her. It wasn't too far from how Spence would make her feel.

"Set up the bath," Peter told one of the thirteen cult members kneeling in a half-moon shape on the floor. Tiffany looked to the bath used for immersion baptism. It had already been filled with water. It was embedded in the ground, broken and dirty. She could clearly see the steps leading into it, half-smashed and unfit to walk on. Shards of marble and stone floated around in the water.

"I am not going in that," Tiffany told Peter directly. He very rarely looked away from Tiffany but her directness forced him to divert his eyes. Peter instead walked to the alter and grabbed a bottle of holy water. He stepped down with the bottle clenched in his hands as he began to twist the lid off of it. His steps echoed through the hall, picking up rhythm the closer he got to Tiffany.

With the bottle lid off, Peter walked around Tiffany and tore at her top, ripping it just enough to show skin.

"You will do as I say," Peter said. With a swish of his hands as if fighting with a sword, he flicked the bottle behind Tiffany. The liquid inside splashed onto Tiffany's exposed back.

The pain from the liquid was second-to-none the most painful experience Tiffany had ever felt in her life. The water burned through her flesh, sizzling the skin to scold the tissue underneath. Wisps of smoke emanated from the burns. Tiffany's scream plunged the church into darkness. The hundreds of candles used to light the main hall extinguished.

Peter looked around in shock. The cult members remained seated without uttering a word. The man setting up the bath made a groan as his foot slipped into it. Puerbardis looked frightened.

"It was only acid," Peter informed Tiffany who was lying on the floor in agony, crying and trying to turn her head to look at the damage on her back. Peter looked around at the candles again as little lines of smoke filled the air. "You really are the Devil's whore."

Tiffany stopped moving and resigned to lying on the stone-cold floor. Her mouth remained open, locked in pain as saliva dribbled out. Tiffany's tears dampened her entire face.

Peter walked to face the cult members directly. "Re-light the candles, as quick as you can."

The cult members scurried to their feet and broke off like ants in a frenzy. Tiffany watched as they hustled from candle-to-candle with lighters, desperately trying to light the flames. Their desperation only meant one thing – they were more afraid of Peter than Tiffany was.

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