Sister Marrow

The night is silent save for the slow, rhythmic drip of water from the vaulted ceiling. Within the dark confessional, Sister Marrow kneels, her gloved hands pressed together in mock devotion. A single candle burns before her, its flame bending away from her breath. The voices begin again—soft at first, then louder—pleading, weeping, accusing. They are the souls of those who confessed their sins to her before their deaths… and she remembers every word. Once, she sought redemption for others. Now she feeds upon it. Each confession she hears draws her deeper into the curse that binds her—a pact sealed by the blood of the devout and the damned. The cathedral walls tremble when she speaks, her prayers crawling through the cracks like insects seeking flesh.