You bleed for me, I'll bleed for you
The oracle, a young girl clad in a long white silk dress with skin as chalk white as paper and eyes as black as midnight possessed by what everyone assumed was an archangel stated with an eerie voice that always reminded Gerard of a nursery rhyme he once heard.
That rhyme was what kept him awake at night as a child.
Her silvery tendrils of hair tumbled past her flat chest and she sat barefooted in a dark room with the only light source being a few measly candles in front of her.
Gerard immediately sprang up upon hearing those words and was about to open the glass door separating him from the hallway leading to the congregation of Paraders when the oracle quickly uttered with unfocused eyes,
“Gerard wait, the undead are planning, they’re going to attack, I can’t see when but I can feel it nearing, this doesn’t look good. Be careful of her, she doesn’t know what’s happened.”
“If those morons are planning they better use their brains this time, we totally wiped out there last flank, I think we can sleep easy tonight. And of course she’ll remember me, I’ve been married to her for 5 years now, no way she could forget.”
And with that he eagerly marched out the small room, leaving the oracle wearing a frown, her brow creased and mouth a disapproving line, making her appear aged beyond her years.
The room grew palpably cold and the air hung thickly, it would have been an effort just to move a limb, a pair of icy pale hands crept around and seeped through the walls; they wandered around her childlike frame and grasped at her throat, squeezing tightly.
The owners of those hands became visible in a flash of smoke which cleared as quickly as it appeared, his dark eyes bloodshot and face unwashed, breath a putrid, metallic stench of blood.
Dressed completely in a black suit he loomed over the child, forcing her in a laying position.
“Long time no see?”
His foul breath washed over her innocent face, making her cringe.
She may contain the soul of a supposed archangel but she still kept the qualities of any 6 year old, the child died when her father beat her to death.
Said father was condemned to death for such an appalling crime, and upon scrutiny from the child, said father was now attached to her neck by the teeth, perforating her skin and lapping eagerly at the essence spilling out of her.
“Don’t worry Patience, I’ll be back, I’ll make you better than ever, and I’ll have my way with you too.”
The venom on his unnaturally white fangs now infected her body, causing her to have a violent fit.
Within the blink of an eye, he vanished with a veil of blackness falling around him.
Her petite shaking hand caressed the two little wounds as poison tainted her mind and coursed through her veins.
Images of the undead and visions of the future plagued her inward eye and voices of sufferers screamed in her mind, the feelings of a thousand prisoners of the undead corrupting her soul.
Fire and Destruction, Fire and Destruction, Fire and Destruction, then silence.
The last thing she whispered before it controlled her completely was,
“The darkness is coming, silence will infect.”