A voice reached me from the distant horizon…I could no longer hear my heartbeat, as though it had stopped out of reverence for what was spoken.All that remained alive within me was that call:
"To you, last of my blood…Your final chance."
I opened my eyes with great effort, certain that I would see nothing but hell.But there was no fire… only white ground, a sky beneath my feet, and a white palace turned upside down—as if the world itself had been inverted… or perhaps I was the one who no longer belonged to it.
I rose unsteadily, each step tearing a fragment from my existence.And when I neared the palace threshold—red hands seized me.
They were neither flesh nor bone…They were congealed blood, pulsing with heat, clinging to me as if it knew me.I smelled iron… the scent of blood.
I struggled, screamed, but a voice whispered in my ear—or perhaps inside my mind:
"Not yet…Not yet."
The whisper repeated, slow and absolute.And suddenly—I was dragged away with brutal force, as if the place itself rejected me, as if my presence had been a fatal mistake.
I screamed.My existence screamed.
I awoke to familiar lashes of cold…but this time, there was warmth.The warmth of my own body.
I stared at a wooden ceiling for several minutes, trying to understand:Had I returned?Had I survived?Or was this merely another chapter of torment?
Then a sensation struck me—hunger.
Not the hunger of the stomach I had known in the palace,but something deeper, fiercer,as if my very blood were boiling, as though something inside me was demanding… screaming.
I told myself:Perhaps I am ill.Perhaps this is shock.
I lifted my hand, searching for the wound—but…there was nothing.No mark.No scar.
As though death had been a dream…or as though I had become the illusion.
The door opened softly.A young woman entered—beautiful, with black hair and warm blue eyes.She smiled at me, a human smile… more than I could bear.
"You're awake, little one. I found you lying in the mountains—the snow was swallowing everything. I carried you here… this isn't my home, just a shelter for travelers and hunters. But—"
She hesitated, then asked gently:"What were you doing there alone? Have you lost your family?"
The word family pierced me like an arrow.Memory crashed upon me all at once.Betrayal.Pain.Death.
And my hunger… grew.
I looked at her, not as a human being—but as something else.
I swallowed hard.She stepped back in alarm.
"Are you in pain? You look… strange."
I did not answer.There was nothing left in my chest but emptiness.
I rose unsteadily, heading for the door.She grabbed me, trying to stop me.
"You can't go out! The storm—"
I cut her off with a voice I had never known:"I am not sick… I am hungry."
She froze.She stared at me in terror.
I whispered, without meaning to:"Every time I look at you… my hunger grows."
I did not understand the desire that flooded me—the urge to tear her apart, to drink her blood to the last drop.And yet… I did not move.
I opened the door—and there was a man.
I froze.
I felt no hunger toward him.Only something worse…familiarity.
As though he were closer to me than myself.
He stepped inside, removed his hood, and laughed softly.
"At last, we meet."
I asked, my voice trembling:"Do you… know me?"
He took a step closer."No. But I understand you."
He stared into my eyes."You feel the hunger, don't you? No one endures this unless they are… strong."
Suddenly, he seized the woman.She screamed.
He drew a dagger and, with cold precision, sliced her skin.Blood spilled.
He smiled."Drink."
I screamed:"Stop!"
He replied with terrifying calm:"If you don't, you will die."
Then he added, approaching slowly:"Not an ordinary death… but your second one. And your last."
My body trembled.
"How… how did you know I died before?"
He looked at me with eyes that knew far too much."Because all of us… have been through the same."
He dipped his hands into her blood, gripped my face despite my struggle."Either you drink…or you vanish forever."
The blood—it was closer than I could endure.
I fought with every shred of humanity left in me.I struck his chest, bit his hand, screamed until my voice tore apart—but his grip did not loosen.
The woman was crying, her breath shattered, her eyes searching me—not as a savior…but as a nightmare.
The blood was too close.Its scent pierced my mind, not my nose.As if something inside me had awakened—ancient, starving, patient.
The world began to shrink.
I heard beats—no, not my heart.
They were the beats of something else, something without a chest, yet pulsing.
The same voice whispered again, deeper now, closer:"If you refuse… you will fade."
I screamed:"I don't want this!"
The man laughed, whispering by my ear:"No one ever did."
He pressed the blood to my lips.
The moment of contact struck like lightning.
It did not taste as I had imagined.It was not bitter…It was warm.Alive.
As though it knew my name.
I tried to pull away—but my body betrayed me.
My fingers dug into the ground.My back arched violently.And my chest—as though fire had ignited within it.
I saw the white palace.I saw the bloody hands.I saw myself… dead.
Then I drank.
One sip…then another.
The screaming faded.The woman collapsed—but she did not die. I felt her heartbeat, still alive, still pulsing.
The world fell silent.But inside me—something howled.
I heard my bones groan—not breaking, but being reforged.My skin burned… then cooled.My eyes darkened—then ignited.
I saw everything.
The blood on the floor was no longer a stain…but a map.
The man's breathing was heavy, ancient.And the snow outside—I could hear each flake fall, one by one.
It stopped.
The man stepped back, looking at me with a dark, hidden sorrow.
"Ah… you will forgive me someday."
I did not ask: for what?I already knew.
I looked at my hands—they no longer trembled.
I looked at the woman—I felt no guilt.No pity.
Only… fullness.
I whispered, in a voice that was no longer mine:"What have you done to me?"