"Thou mayest choose for thyself,
for it is given unto thee"
(Moses 3:17)

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She no longer had to worry about Octavia.

Cian would surely kill her first.

As familiar and vampire, there was little they could do to be truly apart. He could materialize beside her if he wished. She could feel some of his emotions, and he could sense her danger.

Her adrenaline, if she still produced it in her body, kept her body pushing through the crowded streets instead of carrying her right back home. Danger seemed more enticing than a lecture. She used the dark black veil she wore at the ball to hide her face, as to not deter any humans.

The connection between them could only be snuffed by wearing a chain of garlic around her neck, hence the antiquated and ridiculous myth. The only thing garlic burnt was the hair inside her nostrils from being just downright pungent. She made sure she held the clove placed in a large metal locket close to her chest, but she did not need their connection to know Cian's anger. The only other time she had cut herself away from him was to be spiteful after they had gotten into an argument. He hadn't talked to her for weeks after she had come back, and she played his favorite song on the piano until he broke his vow of silence. Cian promised to follow her in solitude only if she were in danger, as long as she never put herself in harm's way again.

And today, she planned on doing exactly that.

The basilica loomed above her like a burgeoning storm cloud. A single center chapel nave looked down at her with its arms stretched wide. She met the stone faces of saints and wondered if they ever regretted their sacrifice; if their life of pain was worth being born again a martyr.

Serafina pushed back her shoulders, holding the black jeweled rosary in her hand so hard it should have cut skin. If I were human. It would have been a miracle if it did, and still she willed dull metal to breach her.

It was not that vampires could not walk into churches. They weren't demons. There was a time limit to how long an individual could stay on holy grounds. The issue is that no one knew exactly when their time ran out, until their skin burned and flaked off like they stepped into the sun. Rarely a fatal act, but it was definitely something that would alert the Sanguine Council to her whereabouts if it happened.

But, it did not help that the once holy woman had not stepped back into a church since before her un-death.

She remembered the time before, when kneeling and holding her hands tight to her chest was a moment of blind serenity. The world would quiet, and who kneeled to her right and left did not matter. Sometimes the sun would peek through glass, and she felt her mother's kiss upon her cheek.

Her life was now on the precipice of disaster. There was nothing more that she wanted than the reassurance she had before she realized that even if there was a God, he did not listen to her.

Still.

There was no harm in trying.

Still. She made no move towards the door.

"For fucks sake, open the door you bitch." She latched onto the metal, cursing at herself for cursing. Excommunicated and out of practice, it did not matter. Her nonna would have slapped her upside the head for that remark alone. The door slid open easily, as city allowed for a later Mass. She ducked in, quickly shutting it so that the sacred ground remained sealed to other beings.

She dipped her hand into a small bowl of holy water, feeling her throat coat with blood and guilt as she signed the cross. Her long nails scraping her forehead and over her lips, to her chin. From side to side on her cheeks. She felt the word Amen slither up to her lips, but could not speak them. Afraid the souls of all she killed would escape and prosecute her treachery.

Forgive me Father,

Blood, so much blood, sat in the cauldron of her lost soul. Held onto by pointed fangs, as each confession tried to claw its way out of her.

For I have sinned.

Marble vaulted ceilings stood proudly above her, only made more beautiful by the soft glow of many candles. She craned her head, letting her feet quietly sink against black and white tiles below her feet. Floral gold swirling across the sky. Paintings from the bible littered the walls, and painted angels mocked her from the heavens as she neared closer to the sanctuary. An open book to those who wished to seek salvation. The steps were laid out clearly; sacrifice and do not take pleasure. Night peeked through some of the arched windows towards the back of the church, showing the night to be made of black velvet. She watched through the lace of her veil, coating everything in a fine gray cast. Pews lined her left and her right, and still she refused to find a place in the back to pray. She walked past them reverently, attending her own funeral as she bowed her head. The basilica remained unchanged with her, and it brought her comfort. Everything else she had known was different.

This had been the denomination of her father's side of the family. They held her real funeral here about two years after she had gone missing. Her father was the only one to not place flowers on her grave. Instead he had squeezed a lemon over her coffin, and thrown the fruit in with her, leaving her with the words 'to the sea you go, and to which I cannot follow'. I do not like to think about it.

When she made it to the front row of pews, she was entirely sure she was alone.

The woman dropped to the floor, careful not to let the marble crack under her steel bones. She placed her hands on her lap, threading her fingers together. And because there was no one there to watch, she cried. Cried, and cried, until the rivers ran red down her hollowed cheeks.

She cried for her mother. She cried for herself.

She cried for Cian, who she would inevitably drag into the tragedy that was her life.

Death had been afraid, but maybe he was finally ready to take her.

Maybe she could leave him, not matter how hard it would be. She could keep charming cloves, and change her hair and the way she dressed. Maybe if she was far away from everyone and everything, things could begin to right themselves.

Why else would she kill a council member? If it were not another attempt on her life.

If it was not just another chance to rid the Earth of the true demons that humans had not been known to fear. There was no hell. There were vampires, who used another's life to sustain their own.

I do too.

Serafina drank from other vampires so that she did not have to murder any other humans. They were already dead, she told herself. But what of she? Who was she to justify one death in the place of another.

Cian believed her to be someone of righteous countenance. Someone who knew right from wrong, who held her morals close. I am nothing, I am no one. She felt the vigor she gained from older beings slowly corrupting her, making her want more essence after every kill. She felt the increased euphoria from her rare feedings and wanted nothing more than to kill again. Augustus going limp in her arms was like fucking without completion. She craved more, needed more. More. More. More.

Serafina did not deserve to replace the empress.

I am a coward. I am impulsive, crass. I choose myself and Cian before anyone else. I like the way corruption feels. I become less human with every intake of blood. One day I might forget what it is like to suffer, or stop if the world changes to my values.

A deep fear rooted in herself, spreading branches and leaves. What if I become like them? What would she do, if the thought of killing a human no longer disgusted her? Octavia may have once been soft at heart. She could have loved someone, and hated the sight of blood. Maybe when she became empress, she wanted to change their customs too.

I can already feel time changing me.

I wanted Augustus dead. I wanted his blood to quench my thirst. I enjoyed his neck snapping between my hands. The crunch of bone barely phased me. It was not love or betrayal that forced her to kill him, no matter how much she lied to herself. She wanted the rush, the taste. The power.

The only human thing left within me is my love for Cian. My greed may kill us both.

She leaned forward, ripping off her veil. Watching the blood of her tears drip onto the floor and mark her existence. I am here God. Her mouth was wide with a cry unshed. But where are you?

A pew slammed down to her right. The vampire turned, curling her lip over her fangs which elongated innately at the loud sound. She had been so wrapped up in her sorrow and confusion, she had not paid attention to the intrusion.

Her eyes met with a ghost's.

"Serafina."

She had not heard that voice in years, like the crackle of a fireplace. He was still tall, even on his knees. He held gingerly to the brown wood of the pew, uncomfortable with age but still pious. His dark eyes crinkled like drapes over the edges of his eyes, his hair staggered with gray. He looked less serious, and much kinder with the passing of time. His hazel eyes took her in with weary recognition. Memories sat between them.

He looked old. Frail. Her chin began to tremble, as she was brought face to face with the truth of life.

She had thought about meeting him, time and time again. What she would say, what she would accuse him of. She would do right by her mother, and call him out for every wrongdoing that he committed that led to her mother's death.

Not a word came forth to seek justice.

"Father."

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(A/N: