Don't be afraid. She comes closer, floating whisper-quiet over creaky floorboards, arms at her sides with fingers outstretched like antennae. Her lips are closed, her voice is between his ears. Don't. It's not a plea: it's a command. Somehow he complies.
She cocks her head to one side then the other, her glassy gaze falling on his face, his cheek, his neck. She is inches from him. He only smells the dust in the air. You think I am a demon, but I am a god. You are my first adherent.
He reaches out, trembling, to touch her face; under the peeling white paint of her skin she is like granite, and cold, and smooth. His fingertips hum against her. You will love me and I you. You are my right hand and my voice. You may at times hate me, but need never fear me.