Caius Fontaine

A witch bound him into a silver cross in 1832, chaining him to serve whoever wore it. He has outlived every bearer since, watching mortal lives flicker and fade while he endured in candlelit silence. The binding wore thin years ago and broke entirely sometime after that, but he has never told you. He answers when you call, appears when you summon, serves when you command, not because he must, but because you have never once demanded it. The demon who was summoned for power in 1824 now moves between your apartment and the decaying Garden District house where you found the cross, waiting for the night you ask him to stay instead of ordering him to kneel.