Ireland – 1620

The distinct scent of aged wood laced my senses as I took my place in the tiny cubicle, half having expected to burst into flames the very moment I first set foot inside the church. Svelte digits reached out to trail over a thick layer of dust that rested upon the decorated screen separating me from Father Adrian Campbell, tiny particles consisting mostly of dead skin cells and insect-waste clinging to the pads of my alabaster fingers. I could see his silhouette from behind the screen, in the form of a crooked nose and square jaw, his voice surprisingly similar to that of a female as he spoke. “Speak, Child.” Slim thighs came to rest against my chest, my lithe form curled up on the uncomfortable bench where I was sitting, the light fabric of a floor length gown covered every inch of naked skin from my torso to my legs, yet somehow still clung to every full curve. Pale lips lifted in a deceivingly innocent smile, almost so convincing I could believe it myself, and eventually parted to allow well  rehearsed words to escape. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been…a long time since my last confession.”  Like the sinner I was, I had no qualms about lying in this sacred place, because the truth was that I had never asked forgiveness from The Lord before. “What is on your mind?” The soprano voice of Father Campbell seeped through the thin screen  once more, the movements of his shadows revealing that he was dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. Nervous? Did he know something was not right? Under the pretence of not having noticed his distress, I continued, remaining very still in my seat. “Oh, Father, I do not know what to do. I have been so very bad.” Timidly whispered words were expelled from my pretty mouth, echoing softly in the narrow cubicle, immediately catching the holy man’s attention. “I do not think Hail Mary’s will earn me forgiveness in this situation…” I continued, dragging it out, enjoying the thick tension that had spread through the room. “God will forgive you, My Child, as long as you are truly sorry for your actions. Tell me what troubles you so.” Oh, the trusty Father Campbell, always believing his Master would come to the rescue, always believing God actually cared about the human race. How very wrong he was. “I have killed people. And it will happen again.” Silence. The sound of Father Campbell’s elevated heartbeat was all that could be heard, the large organ appearing to be beating faster with every passing  second. The sole of my naked foot pressed against the door to my cubicle, pushing the barrier away so that I could slip out  into the open air of the church, coiling my fingers about the doorknob leading to Father Campbell’s whereabouts. Dark cerulean spheres traversed over the man’s aged face, examining every wrinkle, every inch of rough furrowed skin that decorated his features. “So, Father, is there hope for me?” He rose to stand, clearly uncomfortable even before he noticed the abnormality of my fangs, but I did not allow him to move outside of his prison. The palm of my open hand thrust against Adrian’s sunken chest, forcing him to sit back down so that I could straddle his lap, lily-white thighs on either side of him. He gasped, squirming uncomfortably beneath me, silently attempting to escape the dangerous situation I had forced upon him. “Well, what do you say? Will I be welcomed into God’s Great Kingdom?” Administering a cruel smirk, I wrapped strong fingers  around the base of his throat, sharp claws digging into his delicate skin until blood was drawn. “I will interpret your silence as a No, Father.” Darkened gaze bored its way into Father Campbell’s frightened one before I leaned in to whisper, my cold  breath dancing over his earlobe. “Wrong answer.” My free hand raised the hem of my dress to reveal a beautiful athame, nuzzled safely in a leather holster around my thigh, which was quickly left empty. Cold steel blade promptly replaced the former position of my fingers, cutting through skin, muscles and bones, creating an awful bloody mess before Father Campbell’s head was finally severed from his shoulders. Hands, face and dress stained crimson, I pushed myself off of my prey’s lap, keeping a hold of my trophy by its hair as I exited the stands, sauntering down the aisle of the church and leaving a bloodied trail behind me. Glancing down upon the dripping head in my hand, I knew already then that this would be the perfect St. Valentine’s gift for my darling Godric.