The soft knocking on the door woke her, and she sat up a little blurry eyed. Glancing to the window, her ears registering the tell-tale chirping of the birds, that it was another beautiful morning. In captivity. She managed a laugh, calling. "I can't unlock it from in here, Marcel!"

The sound of a key clicking in the lock was her response, and she tilted her head when a Priest appeared, his dark troubled eyes and receding hairline, along with the trail of wrinkles that were set in his rugged skin showed years of hard living, likely from his struggled with the super natural community.

He gave her a little smile, closing the door behind him and pocketing the key in the pocket of his jacket, no doubt alongside his pocket of psalms. He kept afloat on his other hand a big bowl of what smelled a lot like oatmeal. Approaching and handing it to her, he murmured. "Careful. It's hot. "

Her suspicions were confirmed, when she saw the creamy concoction, brown sugar liberally sprinkled on top, and milk sloshing dangerously near the side as she took it. Her stomach rumbled and she realized it had been far too long since she had eaten, and she murmured. "Thank you, Father."

He smiled a little, and crossed the room to pull the curtains aside to let more of the morning sun in the small attic room. He murmured wryly. "For helping hold you captive, or making you breakfast, child?"

She blinked considering his words. Adding tentatively. "Breakfast. And Marcel said I'm being kept safe here, isn't that what's happening?" She raised a dark brow, fixing her eyes on the Priest. She liked him, and the honesty that radiated from him as brightly as his suffering did.

Father Kieran shrugged, and returned his attention out the window. Avoiding the gaze of the young witch, and feeling keenly the absence of the faith that had once sustained him. Reveling in the unbelievable irony of his life for a moment before lifting his hands in supplication. "Surely if Marcel says it, it must be so. So it is written." A smirk pulled on his lips, but the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes and he was glad his back was turned.

Davina caught the sentiment all the same, and she did not mince words. Before she could consider what she was asking, she blurted out. "Am I in danger here, Father? Does Marcel intend to hurt me?"

He turned to take in the sight of the girl, in full bloom. The light of magic within her like a beacon light for those of the supernatural persuasion, and he sighed. He did not trust the Vampire as far as he could throw him, and though he suffered his bidding, he could not deny the revulsion for it. How could he answer this child, and he decided to use the advice he had given his followers throughout the years, and often not followed himself. Honesty was a balm to God's ears.

"I do not know his intentions, child. I know that where supernaturals go a path of destruction, blood and corpses follow."

A shiver ran down her spine, and she stiffened. Her eyes narrowing. "You forget, Father. I am supernatural too." The curtains behind him began to sway with an unseen wind, as her eyes lit with warning.

He chuckled, raising his hand and murmuring. "I did not forget. And I assure you, I may be the one person in the city who does not wish you harm. You have enemies everywhere, child. Recognize a friend when you see one before you."

The curtains stilled, and she gazed down at her cooling oatmeal, a touch of shame culling her appetite. Stirring the creamed oats and brown sugar, and using the spoon to take a bite. Enjoying the caramelized taste of the brown sugar mixed in and swallowing it. Venturing a compliment, amid the threatening tension of the room that she had created herself. "It tastes good."

He nodded, taking it as an extension of peace and moving to pull the chair Marcel had sat upon watching her fitful sleep the night before. Sitting down and watching her take a few more bites. "My nephew always liked it that way. He used to live here, when he was first deciding if he wanted to join the church or not. He slept in that same bed. "

She nodded, and tilted her head. Smiling and asking the obvious question. "Is he cute?"

Father Kiaren blinked. It had been so long since anyone but his Niece had referred in a positive way to his Nephew after the well publicized and horrific massacre that had happened in the sanctuary of this very church. Where he spent nearly every moment. He cleared his throat, focusing on the white duvet cover and murmuring quietly. "He was. He's dead."

Davina nodded a little and murmured. "I'm sorry… " Thinking of no other way to break the growing sadness in the room she tried a joke. A terrible one, but it was the best she had in her at the moment given how poorly she was dealing with her own personal tragedies The image of her dead best friend Monique haunting her every time she closed her eyes. Always only a blink away. She watched him, not weighing her words before releasing them. " It wasn't your cooking, was it?"

Laughter from his throat, thick and almost garbled caught them both off guard. He coughed, shaking his head. "No. It was not my cooking. " Davina smiled and returned to her breakfast, as the Father pulled from his pocket a little notepad and began writing. They sat in relative silence as she ate, and he wrote, only the sounds of bic pen against paper, and of stainless steel against porcelain combined their song with the symphony of the birds, and the waking city.

After she had finished her breakfast she set the bowl aside, returning her attention to the Priest and asking "Whatcha writing?" He smiled, his voice quiet. "My sermon. I usually write up here. I will have to find a new place to write, I suppose."

She shook her head a little. "You can still write up here. I'll be quiet. Unless you want to talk. I have a lot I could talk to a Priest about."

A wry smile greeted her. "The truth is I'm not much of a Priest. I even heard a tale about me keeping a Witch in my attic for a Vampire. I have lost my path. But I must keep up appearances."

Watching him, her brow furrowed. "Maybe we can help each other find our paths. "

The Priests smile froze on his face, when another voice joined the quiet morning. Marcel stood in the doorway. "My. How refreshing, Davina. Making friends all ready. And you've eaten, I see the good Father has an effect on you. That is all Father. Davina and I have much to talk about."

Kieran rose from the chair, and Marcel reclaimed it, and waited for the Priest to leave as he had been bid. Without another word he was out of the room, taking the steps down from the attic quickly. He had not been compelled, but he had been observant enough to realize an order from the King was not to be disobeyed without fear of ramifications.

Davina watched his retreat and returned her attention to Marcel, frowning. "Did I do something wrong?"

Shaking his head, his expression grim. "You must be careful who you trust, Davina. The whole world is out to get you." She stiffened as his hand took hers, gripping it, his dark eyes boring into her. "I am the only one with your best interests at heart."

Shivering at his words, she listened most closely to his first warning. She must be careful who she trusted and deep in her soul the alarm bells began to ring, as Marcel began to twist and wind her to his will.