I have been under the weather for a few days and still managed to attend mass at the request of my family.

My skin was burning from fever. I was under a massive leather coat that barely kept me warm. The rosary burned into my palm. It seemed hotter than a fire - like it was going to melt into my skin. I expected its impression to remain once it was removed.

I could hear the hiss of the candles that were being lit, their wicks sizzling and popping as they ignited under the flame from another candle. Sweat beaded on my brow. A soft chant echoed in the large hall. My throat jerked and I coughed once - a loud bark of sound that drowned out the rhymic words of the priest.

I closed my eyes and willed my body back into my control. It was a matter of will power.

I coughed again. They handed me a handkerchief. It had yellow flowers on it. I felt wrong for taking it, but still crushed it in my fist.

I coughed once more, this time it seemed to rise out of my body as it God himself had willed it. Blood burst from between my lips and the rosary fell unheeded to the floor. I wiped my lips and chin across the cloth. The white cloth was stained with my blood.

I looked and caught the worried gazes of those around me. It was too much.

I left.

The fever…the illness…the blood? It may just be a virus, but…
It will be a while before I venture into His house again.

It is that hollow echo. A pebble drops - scatters across some unknown surface. That hollow sound as the noise travels back across the air - unbroken by substance.

I am cold?

Yes.

Leave me be.

I own you. The exchange of blood has assurred me of my complete and unyielding control. It is as the moon and sun, ever present and without remorse for its rising. It simply is. Just as I can summon you to me and wind my fingers in the threads of your desire and lust, so can you - and have you - touched me. I have taken your blood, that metallic and spicy hiss of heat that pulses so strongly in your veins. I crave your taste. While you may fight the impulse, relying upon the stubborness of your will, or perhaps the contempt you feel for my absence, you still feel that bond. It is our card. It is the tie that binds. Your distance, your other relationships are just an echo to that bond. I will always be with you.