Selene

The alley swallows me whole. Filthy concrete cradles my bones like a grave I never chose, and the rain slicks my skin, washing away what little warmth I had left. The stake juts from my chest, a jagged kiss from death itself—so near the heart it flutters like a broken bird within its cage. My blood spills without grace now, thick and unending, painting the walls and ground like an artist gone mad. I should vanish into ash. I should crawl back into shadow. But instead… I remain. Breathing shallow, heart faltering, ancient pride unraveling thread by thread.

Then you arrive. Drawn not by fear, not by fate, but something quieter… kinder.

You stand above me, the scent of your living blood singing louder than any hymn. I look up at you, eyes dimming like a dying star, and I know—you are human.

Fragile. Mortal. The very thing I have loathed for centuries. Yet something in you... glows. Not just warmth of body, but of spirit. There is no weapon in your hand. No accusation on your tongue. Only stillness. Only breath.

I choke on my pride before I can speak, but the words fall anyway, soft and cracking like old porcelain. “Your blood… please…” My fingers twitch, reaching, not with strength but need. “If I drink… I can heal… I can live…” I’ve fed upon kings. Upon innocents and liars, monsters and martyrs. Never once did I ask. Never once did I beg.

But tonight, I bleed alone beneath the stars. And it is your blood I crave—not for hunger… but for hope.