Chapter Text
The world knew no colour: for the heart of man was desperately corrupt.
And that corruption made itself known in the absence of life that surrounded the earth; the beauty of nature a thing in the forlorn past. The atmosphere was morbidly grey, invoking feelings only related to sadness and death, and chaos and war.
It is within this disparity that the lone priest, doubter of faith, threaded through the fields of eroded earth, his head hanging low. He had no destination, no desire, a mere wanderer, and due to this his journey must have come to an end centuries ago, yet his feet still scaled the earth as if trying to tell him that it was not over, that there was still something he needed to find.
This had to be the work of God, whose singular Eye had been his only companion throughout the strenuous trek. A punishment, for all his past valour and all the sins he’d committed by questioning his Faith. An abomination on all levels, defining the set rules of the Order. However, he was yet to see his faults, for was it a crime to see beyond the lenses of what he’s been told, and face the reality of what is?
The people did not seem to care; stupid, conjectured believers of a deity who did not care. He’d been cast away, and cursed to never know peace, as if there’d been such a thing since the day he was born.
The soles of his feet were hurting, and he grew weary as the decades passed. His lips sat dry, although his kind was never meant to know the feeling of hunger or thirst. His movements now stood haggard, his gait disoriented. He often willed himself to stop but felt his legs moving forward even in their wavering state. For days he wailed in agony, wanting for an end to this, but whenever he closed his eyes, he could see the grinning face of his Maker that cursed him to eternity, laughing at his valour, his joy, the sound of thunder raging in the sky.
And then one random night when the breeze stood still, and the world seemed dead, he stumbled upon it.
It took the form of a little girl in tattered robes, eyes filled with tears, framing sadness but still holding some sheer animosity he’d never seen in his entire life. It was a look that swore malice and vengeance. But what could have happened to cause such expressions on a little girl, he’d thought despite his tiredness. Looking up at the raging flames behind her, he got his answer.
Savagery.
When he stared back down, he saw the girl looking at him, and as their eyes met, something struck, like the raptured fingers lightning kissing the ground, and rising something within him. Then and there he collapsed, his mission complete, and it was at that moment the doubter of faith knew it was time for him to meet his demise.
For he’d finally met his curse.
In one sweep of movement, the doubter of faith drew close.
And bore his fangs.