…Jacob tilts his head to the side, and studies the image drawn before him in the sketchbook with an almost blasé bias, grinding his teeth gently together before gripping the paper and tearing it from its binding and proceeds to screw it up haphazardly.
“Does it make you feel like a god?” a raspy voice coos in his ear with a stale breath. He twists around in his seat griping the side of his neck, kneading it furiously.
“H-H-Hello?” he stammers nervously as his eyes search the room with a desperate wanting. “I-I-Is anyone t-there?”
“No Jacob, I’m just your conscience finally finding my own voice.”
His lips screw up in a sea of twitching muscle and he allows a faint chuckle to escape his throat. “I know the sound of my own conscience, and it is not you.”
“Maybe the voice you’ve heard before is some twisted demonic presence, trying to molest you into an addled false sense of security which will allow it to turn its infestation into a full-blow possession.”
He gently blinks his eyes three times before taking a relaxed breath. “Why should I believe you, when you could be attempting to do that very thing!”
“Is it talking to you now? Is it telling you what to say?”
“If you were truly my conscience, you would already know the answer.”
“Touché.” the voice hisses in his ear.….