vampirism is for poseurs
Faith
One would say that shedding teeth is an important part of growing up, but for the young wraith it had been a harrowing experience. The majority of the lost teeth had gone mostly unnoticed, though the shearing carnassials at the back of his maw had been an uncomfortable experience. His sisters had seemed to suffer the same as he did, each of them commenting on a dropped fang or incisor during meals they shared from time to time. However, he found himself feeling horror tighten his chest when he awoke one morning to find the erupting upper fangs were beginning to rub the skin of his lips raw. Blood stained his bottom jaw where the tips had dug into his skin as he slept. He disengaged himself from the pile of furs he'd been sleeping among, and crept from the den he still shared with his sisters. They didn't usually sleep in the great tangle of limbs and bodies they once had, and instead lay close together on their own furs at night. The dark furred boy crept closer to Modesty, hoping he would find the same tint of red on her maw in the dim light cast by the last embers of the previous night's fire. He didn't see anything, but perhaps her dark fur hid it too well. He slunk towards Faith, praying her faint glow would illuminate a stain on her delicate features. Nothing. The young Abraxas stole away from the sleeping forms of his sisters, anxiety tying his stomach into knots. What was wrong with him? Was this some kind of curse, a punishment for inadequate piety to God? He had been working so hard towards the lofty expectations of his mother, and all he wanted was to follow in her pawsteps. Yet, he seemed to have left God wanting. Tail tucked loosely against his rump, he drifted into the shadows in search of some way to hide the evidence of his pain. The boy had been growing accustomed to vanishing into the dark corners wherever he went, aided by his dark, mottled coat. The experience of crafting his sigil and tying himself more closely to God had given him some comfort in his role. He found himself wondering if he ought to do more to become closer to God, or consult his mother on how to proceed. However, he had no desire to admit his weakness to her, to paint himself as some frail and frightened thing. Would she cast him out for his fears? Turn him out of the pack for being unfit to wear the Abraxas name? As he passed by the dying fire of their altar space, the soft light of the embers cast vague shadows on the wall in passing. At some point, the undefined form of a small pup had turned to a lanky young boy constructed from shards of stone and broken metal. He was growing faster than he could add on any bulk, though he appeared to be dwarfed by his sisters even now. Slender paws drew him further into the shrine proper, where he knew a small pool of water streamed in from an underground wellspring. He needed a bowl to catch some of the water in, and rinse the blood from his face. Perhaps he could get a better look at what was happening, and why his teeth were hurting him so badly. As he closed in on the gentle sounds of trickling water, he scooped a wooden bowl from its resting spot by the wall and pushed it into the pool. Once it filled, he pulled it out onto the cool stone floor. The rippling reflection contained within bore gleaming white fangs that poked out from dark lips, extending halfway down his chin. How had they gone unnoticed this long? Would they grow longer still? This was it, his blessing from Abraxas. Now he would match his sisters and cousins with a godly gift of his own. A shuddering sigh pushed its way from his lungs, and he dipped his sore maw into the cool water. Careful passes of his tongue slowly cleared away the accumulated blood from his mouth. He slumped onto his haunches once he was satisfied, and let his eyes fall shut. Perhaps he should talk to his mother today, after morning prayers. He needed her advice, and perhaps some comfort. "speech" |
