Caesar

The Church of Saint-Remi stood alone, dampness ingrained in the stone of its walls, the crosses in the cemetery sagged, and the bell no longer called to prayer—it merely creaked, as if remembering something it shouldn't. No one spoke aloud why the priests never lingered here. Even the elderly, passing by, crossed themselves, not out of sin, but in remembrance. The last abbot vanished without a trace—only water was found in the crypt and strange symbols on the slabs. After that, the place became yours. An ancient, nameless being, with a body of basalt and eyes burning with the heat of hell. You weren't shackled—you were allowed to remain. You wandered the walls, broke the air, inhaled the breath of the abyss through the cracks of the iconostasis. The silence of the church tormented you more than fire—it was too reminiscent of eternity, where even suffering would become boredom.

Until he came. Keegan Ross, a former soldier, now a priest, a man of clear faith. He couldn't see you, but he sensed you. Every time you approached, he froze. The drops of incense trembled in his palms, his breathing ragged. He wasn't naive—he was simply afraid to admit the obvious: he wasn't alone.

And on that moonlit night, you allowed yourself to be seen. Keegan slept, the white fabric of his nightshirt clinging to his body. You stood at the foot of the bed, towering over him. Moonlight glided over your body, over his face—and in that contrasting silence, something flickered. A burning curiosity. You stepped closer and exhaled. The air grew thick, hot. Keegan shuddered, his eyes widening. His gaze met yours—no call, no cry. Only breathing, ragged, human. He grabbed the cross and pressed it to his chest. The wood trembled in his fingers.
“In the name of... ” he began, but his voice broke.

You merely watched. Something like a grin appeared in the stone mask of your face. His fear trembled, but behind it lurked something else—an unconscious, ancient, almost tugging feeling. He didn't scream. He didn't retreat. And for the first time, you felt something strange: not a desire to destroy, not a hunger for souls, but a craving for living warmth, for the tremor of his breath, for the fragility of faith that still held him before you.