Utopia of his feelings

Unlike Caleb, Philip would never fall for a witch's charms. On colorful skirts and sly smiles, on tenacious hands and sweet speeches. After all, these creatures are malefic, sinful from the beginning to the end of their insides, and by contacting them, you yourself become exactly the same. Soaked in sin, doomed to eternal torment. He was sure of it, not wanting to deviate from his inveterate beliefs even after several centuries. It was worth returning from hell — and already had to bury all the past foundations far away. However, he never told anyone about his intentions, but this time especially. Now it depended on the witches whether Philip would find himself back in his personal nightmare, rotting in Tartars. However, he stuck to the main thing: not to repeat Caleb's fate. That was enough. God may have turned away from him, but he is clearly pure from the evil one. Philip thought about this as he took off his bloody gloves and treated his hands with some foul-smelling liquid, because it was necessary so as not to "get infected." And after that, he again cast a glance at the witch standing with her back to him, whose curls were restlessly swaying from any sudden movements of the hostess. He had been watching her almost casually for thirty years, until she only occasionally showed interest in her naive nature for the devil. A lost bird that can't fly suddenly became as interesting as for a lyricist who has lost his inspiration. Wittebein saw her frowning uneasily, drawing her thin eyebrows to the bridge of her nose as she worked on another sample of the potion. I watched her squeeze out a haggard smile in order to assure her "husband" that everything was fine. I watched Lilith lift her glasses on top of her red head especially late in the evening and stare at the ceiling for a long time, rubbing her multicolored sleepy eyes. At that moment, Lilith herself was completely relaxed and didn't think much about anything. And somehow I didn't want to think, it was blasphemous to interrupt such a wonderful moment with rational thoughts. Or maybe it's a dream at all, or some kind of delirium, attacked by an unexpected fever. Absolutely no guarantees, but does it really matter now?