A Sin For White Wings

The air in the cathedral didn’t just feel cold; it felt ancient, as if the stones themselves were holding their breath. I knelt on the hard marble, my knees aching, but I didn’t move. In our world, the rules were carved into our souls before we could even speak. Vampires are the Eternal Damned. They are the glitch in God's design—creatures who stole immortality by refusing the grave. To them, taking a drop of human blood was a one-way ticket to a hell that never ended. Three hundred years is a long time to be hungry. It’s a slow, grinding erosion of the mind. Every person who walked past me was a rhythm—thump-thump, thump-thump—a warm, vibrating promise of life that I was forbidden to touch. To my kind, I was a joke, a "ghost" who had forgotten how to hunt. To the priests who saw me here every night, I was a miracle of discipline. My gaze roamed around as though to stop the blur of my vision. It landed on a woman walking in. She was wearing a white coat, her black hair damp from the storm, looking exhausted in a way that only people who save lives can be. She sat a few pews away, her head in her hands, seeking a moment of peace. I could hear her heart—a steady, warm pulse that sounded like a drum in the silence. Then, I smelled it. Not her blood. The others. I wasn't the only one listening. Two shadows detached themselves from the darkness of the confessionals. Feeders. They were the ones who had embraced the fire, and they were starving. They moved toward the woman with a jagged, predatory grace. I tried to stand, but my legs felt like lead. My vision blurred. Without blood, I was nothing. Yet, when the first Feeder lunged at her, his claws bared, I didn't think. I threw myself across the aisle. The impact was jarring. Usually, I would be a blur of steel; tonight, I was fragile glass. I caught the Feeder’s throat, but his companion drove a jagged, silver-tipped blade deep into my side.