The figure kneeled on the cold floor, hands tougether as if praying. Nothing moved, even the air was still as if in reverence of what was about to happen in such a sanctified place, or rather, a recently desecrated ruin that still held the wet blood of sacrafice in its stone slabs; seeping, soaking into the very foundation.
A single rivulet, fat and crimson slowly made its way down the discreet slope of the Altar, towards the praying man, bringing with it memories of an uremarkable life, but for the means of which it was ended.
It stopped, still a few feet away, pooling itself under an extended finger, embracing the sharp nail as it tried to carry on, to no avail. Another finger appeared, closing in on its other to cup the sticky liquid and lift it whole from the dirt. Mid air they parted again, the blood firmly in its place until the nail was placed on a waiting toungue.
The Vampire opened his eyes...
