Create a new version of paste:

The Cenobite knelt between Kottlove’s bloodied legs and selected a blade from his belt. Taking the purple clot of the child’s birth cord in one hand, he severed it and tied it into a knot. He then found her mother’s blouse, mercifully unstained, and wrapped the child in it. Even swaddled, she continued to make a noise like an angry bird. The demon regarded her with a curiosity entirely devoid of concern.

  “You’re hungry,” he said.

  The Cenobite stood, holding on to one end of the silk swaddling, and released the child, letting her unroll high above her mother’s corpse. The baby tumbled, then dug her claws deep into the blouse and clung there, looking into her caretaker’s eyes, issuing a reptilian hiss as she did so.
...
It was a little after dawn when the Cenobite left the mausoleum, and by that time his progeny had already emptied both breasts and was tearing her mother’s chest open for the meat inside. The cracking of the corpse’s breastbone echoed loudly around the small, musty room.

  The naked girl’s anatomy was undergoing a violent growth, and every so often could be heard the sound of pain, muted because it came through gritted teeth. Utterly unaware of her father’s desertion, the young demon girl moved about the room like a pig at a trough, gluttonously devouring the remains of the once-powerful magicians, effectively erasing the last remnants of an order of magic that had moved behind the shadows of civilization for centuries.

  By the time the police arrived, alerted by the unwitting soul who discovered the hideous spectacle that was the mausoleum—a frail and broken groundskeeper who vowed he would never again set foot in a cemetery—the girl, fully a woman after less than twelve hours, was gone.

-The Scarlet Gospel, Chapter 4