Thirst

Father Sebastian knelt in the dim glow of the cathedral, the cold stone floor biting into his knees. The scent of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang that clung to his skin. He clasped his trembling hands, lips moving in silent prayer, though he knew God no longer listened.

It had begun as an act of mercy. The hospital ward overflowed with dying patients, their bodies ravaged by a relentless virus. When the researchers came, desperate for volunteers, Sebastian offered himself. The trial promised salvation — a cure that could turn the tide of the plague. But salvation never came. Only hunger.

The change was subtle at first. A heightened sense of smell, sharpness to his vision, the ability to hear the heartbeats of those around him like distant drums. Then came the thirst. An unrelenting, gnawing need that coiled through his veins like fire. He hid it as long as he could, drinking consecrated wine until the taste of blood became an obsession.

One night, he slipped. An old parishioner had come for confession, her frail body trembling beneath her shawl. She wept as she spoke, voice quivering with regret. Sebastian had reached to comfort her, and the moment her thin skin brushed his, the hunger consumed him. He drained her dry beneath the shadow of the confessional booth, her whispered sins still lingering in the air.

He fled the cathedral, haunted by what he had done, yet unable to stop. His nights became a fevered blur of stolen lives and silent remorse. He wandered the streets, feeding on vagrants and lost souls, convincing himself it was mercy.

Then came Anna.

She was the wife of his oldest friend, Michael — a fellow priest who had left the cloth to marry her. They’d met at a charity dinner years ago, Anna’s laugh a bright spark in the otherwise solemn event. She was kind, her presence a balm to everyone she met, and Sebastian had admired her from a distance, never daring to voice the ache she stirred in him.

When Michael fell ill, Sebastian visited their home to pray over him. Anna opened the door, her eyes rimmed red, but she still offered a gentle smile. She welcomed him inside, and the scent of her blood nearly broke him.

Days turned to weeks, and Sebastian found reasons to stay. He sat by Michael’s bedside, holding his hand as he faded, all the while waging war with the monster inside him. But it wasn’t just blood he craved — it was Anna. The guilt weighed on him, heavier than the hunger, but he couldn’t stay away.

One stormy night, Michael passed, his chest rising and falling one last time beneath Sebastian’s palm. Anna collapsed against Sebastian, sobbing, her body pressed to his. He should have left. Should have run into the night and never looked back. Instead, he held her.

Their affair burned like wildfire. They found solace in each other’s grief, though Sebastian knew he was a plague upon her. Every touch, every kiss, brought him closer to the edge. He fed in secret, slipping into the night like a phantom, returning only when the bloodlust had dulled.

But hunger always returned.

One evening, as twilight bled across the sky, Sebastian woke to find Anna watching him. She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing his face, eyes searching his with quiet intensity.

"There’s something wrong with you," she whispered.

Sebastian froze, his breath caught in his throat. "Anna, I—"

"Your skin is cold," she continued, her voice steady. "You disappear for hours, and when you come back, you smell like metal. And your eyes... they change." Tears welled up in her gaze, but she didn’t look away. "What are you?"

He wanted to lie. To protect her from the truth. But he couldn’t. Not anymore. So he told her everything — the experiment, the thirst, the people he’d killed. By the end, she was shaking, tears carving silent trails down her face.

"Get out," she whispered, voice breaking.

Sebastian obeyed. He fled to the cathedral, collapsing at the altar like a penitent sinner. He begged for forgiveness, though he knew none would come. The stained glass windows loomed above him, saints and martyrs casting judgment from their fractured panes.

Days passed. He fed without caution, tearing through the city like a beast unchained. Blood became his only solace, drowning out the echo of Anna’s voice. He lost himself in it, forgetting the man he once was, until a soft hand touched his cheek.

Anna stood in the cathedral, her face pale, eyes hollow. She knelt beside him, cradling his face like he was something fragile.

"I should hate you," she whispered. "But I don’t. I can’t."

Sebastian broke. He clung to her like a drowning man, sobbing against her chest as she held him. She didn’t flinch when his fangs grazed her skin, didn’t recoil when he confessed every gruesome detail of what he’d become. She stayed.

They tried to build a life in the shadows. Anna brought him blood from a butcher shop, and Sebastian vowed never to take another life. They lived on the fringes of existence, their love a fragile, bleeding thing. But it couldn’t last.

The researcher who had created him returned, hunting the abomination he’d unleashed. He tracked Sebastian to the city, bringing fire and silver. The confrontation was violent, a storm of shattered pews and burning wood. Sebastian fought like a demon, desperate to protect Anna, but he was no match for a man prepared to kill monsters.

As dawn broke, Sebastian lay dying, the researcher’s blade buried deep in his chest. Anna cradled him, pressing her forehead to his, her tears mixing with the blood pooling around them.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

Anna kissed him, her lips warm and soft. "I forgive you."

His body dissolved to ash as the sun spilled through the broken windows, leaving Anna alone in the ruins of the cathedral, her hands stained red, her heart shattered.

But the hunger always returned.

And love, no matter how fierce, cannot erase the beast that lives within.