Something Unholy
Freed from his past or something like it.
He wished he felt better, but Narcisse's grip on the blade only tightened in frustration when the demon's head finally rolled across the ground.
Tsk
His glance skirted to the spiderwebbing cracks across the shattered ballroom mirrors. Unfortunate how they couldn't hide the fact that he looked the exact same as when he walked in--same bloodless skin tone and unwelcoming teeth he always cut his own lips on.
He gave the head on the floor a solid kick and at least that gave him a solid cracking sound.
The glove stuck painfully when Narcisse finally tried to let go and sheath the sword. He crinkled his nose at the smell of burning flesh, too, but at least the pain was dull. More pressingly, he couldn't return the borrowed blade in this state.
After placing the holy sword on the ground gently, Narcisse went and tore down one of the mirror drapes. He let the other fall down to cover the reflective surfaces. Then, slowly and deliberately, he wrapped the sword in layer after layer of thick velvet until he almost forgot what was inside.
He picked up the bundle of cloth.
---
The trip to the sword's home was not short, but it passed quickly. Narcisse considered knocking on the door, but stopped at the stairs, sitting down heavily.
He cradled the relic to his chest, peeling back the cloth again to look at his savior. It twinkled back at him brightly, painfully, so he closed his eyes and simply held it against him. Warmth seemed to suffuse from it through his own chilly skin and he drifted in and out of wakefulness. He wished he could stick around and see more, say more, but he had to leave before the morning light came. Ah, he would just have to take in as much of this house as he could now.
When sounds of life started emanating from the house, Narcisse prepared to leave. Finally, he rewrapped the sword and placed it at the top of the stairs before limping away, the lingering tingle of a new burn in his chest.