1: Rhoda is still prepared with her flashlight.

Rhoda: Oh, god, he’s real, oh hell, oh fuck…

Mal-Fa’asha (off-screen): Have I fallen so far that stuttering children may call upon my presence?

2: The prophesied demon props itself on the table. Bright moths slipping from its form.

Mal-Fa’asha: And to think that… pathetic little lizard could tether me…

To think I’m losing my form by the second because of that amateur…

3: Rhoda is on guard.

Rhoda: W-what did you do to Re├źn?

Mal-Fa-asha (off-screen): …Who?

Rhoda: The lizard.

Mal-Fa-asha: Oh.

Mal-Fa’asha: Nothing, child. We had a conversation, and then he locked me in my cell.

Rhoda: You’re lying. He was obsessed with you. You drove him crazy!

Drawing your symbol, day after day!

4: The demon’s wide, toothy grin drips with thick, black ichor.