Ruth can feel something - very faint, but familiar, itching at her mind. Its weak, but still an unmistakable presence.
Meanwhile, the receding of the demonic energies is clearly not helping, and the yellow and violet rings on the blackened hand begin to flare slightly - the violet in particular, as the rings latch onto the emotion to try and help the battle.
"He's not yours... he's mine. I took his bitch, I took his hope, and I took his mind, fair and square."
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