Chapter Text
Avid couldn’t remember the first time he was bitten. Although, he didn’t remember very much from before the incident either.
Waking was a strange, lingering thing. Sensation had returned slowly, languidly, beginning at his fingertips as a sort of pins-and-needles that clawed up his arms. His breaths were haggard, tearing through a burning throat.
When he had finally mustered the energy to peel his eyes open, he was greeted with the dreary gray of an overcast sky. It had taken him a moment to pull himself together, fatigue smothering his mind like a heavy blanket. His skull throbbed, too full, like his mind had outgrown the space inside it. Something wet dripped down his face.
He groaned and pinched his eyes shut, shifting to sit up. The toe of his foot struck something metallic—a hollow bang echoing through the quiet. Startled, he froze, then reached out; his hand met a slick, cold surface. He grabbed the edge and hauled himself upright. For a heartbeat, the world wavered. His vision dimmed, static swallowing the edges.
His breathing hitched into ragged gasps, a wave of cold washed through his limbs. As the world began to fade, Avid could only remember the fear. A raw, all-consuming dread that settled contentedly in his bones—an emotion that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
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The village lay in ruin. Skeletal walls of stone and blackened timber jutted from the earth like the ribs of some long-dead beast. Smoke coiled lazily toward the sky, the air still alive with the faint crackle of stubborn embers. Along the ashen streets, bodies lay charred and faceless—grim ornaments to a silence that felt too still, too satisfied.
Fires were common enough; wood and flame lived side by side in every town. But never like this. Never so complete. A blaze this hungry left nothing to chance—nor anyone to tell its story. The thought of it, an entire town erased in one breath, was terrifying to behold.
Avid was discovered by the people of a neighboring village, curled in the silver bathtub of a burned manor. He had been covered in blood and ash with the vicious bite of some unknown animal torn into his wrist. It had been obvious he hadn’t originally belonged to such a wealthy household as the manor he was found.
Avid's clothes were poor, his hair was more grey than noble brown, and his eyes were a strange purple hue. His seeming lack of a proper surname wasn’t helping either. None of the townsfolk had been able to recognize him, or at least, no one was willing to take on a child that was so clearly a burden.
They were kind, but they were not charitable.
Avid was a child, but he was not their child. He was the odd little boy they had rescued from the smoldering remains of a massacred village. He did not delight and play with the other children, he jumped at shadows and dreamed of monsters that were never there. They were willing to bandage his wounds, to whisper words of kindness, but Avid could tell it was only a matter of time.
They were kind, but they were not charitable.
Avid was a child, but he was not their child. He was the odd little boy they had rescued from the smoldering remains of a massacred village. He did not delight and play with the other children, he jumped at shadows and dreamed of monsters that were never there. They were willing to bandage his wounds, to whisper words of kindness, but Avid could tell it was only a matter of time.
So, when they finally sat him down and explained that there were too many mouths to feed, that they couldn’t give him the attention he needed or deserved, that the city would be so much more wonderful than the drab old countryside, all Avid could do was nod. He did not feel sad. He did not feel angry. All he could feel—all he’d ever felt—was afraid.
Avid remembered the second time he was bitten much more clearly.
He’d taken to the city with the same mentality he had with the townsfolk; he didn’t expect it to last. The orphanage he’d been dropped off at was aged and cramped. Supposedly, it had originally been an old school building owned by the church. The entire thing seemed to sag on its crumbling foundation. Avid eyed a particularly smug-looking dandelion growing stubbornly in the gutter.
With a pointed shove from the trader that had graciously transported him, Avid stumbled over rough cobble towards the rusted iron gate of the churchyard. It swung open with a preternatural shriek, and he crossed the boundary to his new home. With a harsh click and the crack of a whip, the trader was off, the clacking of his horse’s hooves growing quieter as he moved down the street.
Avid watched them go silently. Anxiety bubbled in his stomach as he turned to face the orphanage. Toys of various shapes and colors littered the small, muddy yard. He could hear the echoes of children playing coming from the back of the orphanage. Heaving a sigh, he moved towards the front door. He supposed this was his new home.
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As Avid would come to find, the orphanage had seen better days. The nuns were few and always busy. There were many children who fell under their purview, and they had little time to spare for those who didn’t need it. There were babies to be fed, chores to do, troublemakers to wrangle.
And Avid, quiet and scared, found himself quickly slipping out of their attention. Just as every other child crammed into the crowded bedrooms, he was given only what he needed and nothing more. At first, he hadn’t minded much.
Much of his time in the village was spent under the watchful gaze of the doctor. No one really understood what had happened to him, Avid included, which resulted in the delicate treatment. So, this sudden shift in autonomy was more than a little freeing.
He spent much of his time observing the quiet spaces of the orphanage. They were the places that tended to go unnoticed by the nuns, where despair had cozily settled in. Like the way the linoleum flooring peeled up ever-so-slightly by the icebox or how in the eastmost bedroom the wooden ceiling had turned slightly white where the rain often leaked through.
Most of all, Avid liked the dusty attic where the nuns stored extra linen. On sunny afternoons shafts of golden light would filter through the various cracks where the shingles had fallen off. He would spend hours curled up in a pile of folded tablecloths watching flecks of dust drift lazily through the air.
For a long while it had been his spot, a place to escape the screaming toddlers and mean pre-teens. Unfortunately, nothing in this world is made to last, and it wasn’t long before a nun discovered him. Both she and Avid had scared the ever-loving hell out of each other when she tried to store some extra tablecloths.
Well, the peace had been nice while it lasted. Once recovered from her shock, she had roughly grabbed Avid by the wrist, fingers uncomfortably clenched over the puckered skin of his scar, and dragged him downstairs. She was shouting—lecturing him, really—about one thing or another as she tugged him along. Frankly, Avid paid little attention to any of the words leaving her mouth.
Instead, he put all his effort into being belligerent. Squirming and wriggling, for just a moment he was going to make this woman’s life a living hell. By the time they made it to the first-floor corridor, Avid was sobbing. The nun, who was beginning to look quite out of sorts, cursed as something shattered down the hallway.
Seemingly deciding he wasn’t worth the trouble anymore and that there may be bigger fish to fry, she pushed him through the first door she saw. Avid tumbled into an empty closet, knees scrapping against the stone floor. The door was locked with a defining, vindictive click as the nun yelled after two other kids whose laughter echoed down the hall.
Avid had listened as her stern footsteps got further and further away. It was only when he could no longer hear her that his heart finally stopped racing. Really, the closet wasn’t that bad. The floor radiated a chill that seeped into his pants, but the walls were solid and the door sturdy. As he tucked himself into the corner furthest from the door, Avid couldn’t help but be reminded of the bathtub he’d been found in.
Strangely, he kind of missed it.
He picked at his scarred wrist as boredom began to sink in. There wasn’t much to do while locked in an empty closet. The silence thickened, heavy as the dust hanging in the air. Avid dragged his hand along the wall; grit bit at his fingers as they followed the torn curls of wallpaper. He wondered if something had been trapped in here before him, if that something had clawed its way out.
Another set of footsteps echoed past—a group of girls cheerfully chatting about dinner. Avid’s stomach rumbled at the thought of food. He wondered when the nun would come to retrieve him. Would anyone notice that he was missing?
Probably not. Avid’s weird wasn’t the interesting kind of weird. He wasn’t as surreal as that one boy who tortured rats with a smile, or as mystifying as the pretty girl with a singular blue eye, or as odd as that one kid who so cheerfully ate dirt. His weirdness was the kind that made people feel awkward. Uncomfortable.
He’d heard them whispering about him before. Freaky they called his grey hair and purple eyes. Uncanny they would gossip about how he never seemed to smile. Crazy they’d laugh when he’d tell them stories of monsters. Avid’s hand shook as he stared at the raised scar stark against the pale skin of his wrist.
Sometimes he almost wished they would hit him. It would hurt less than the words. It would hurt less than being ignored.
No one ever returned to the cabinet to retrieve Avid for dinner. The dinner bell came and went, and his hunger faded into the anxious fluttering of butterfly wings. He held out hope that someone would retrieve him until the light coming underneath the closet door was finally put out, drowning him in darkness.
Only then did he allow the tears to finally fall. He had been forgotten.
He didn’t know when he fell asleep, only that the sharp click of the lock snapped him awake. Light flared—a figure filling the doorway, haloed by the glow of an oil lamp.
“What are you doing in here, little one?” He had asked, voice gentle, eyes unreadable.
Relief broke him. Avid stumbled forward, sobbing into the man’s shoulder as those long arms lifted him easily. The Father chuckled, soft as dust.
“Let’s take a short walk,” He murmured, red eyes crinkling, “Calm our nerves.”
Avid nodded against him, too grateful to question how the man just so happened to find him or why his touch felt so cold. He didn’t see the Father’s smile sharpen or feel the clawed fingers curled possessively against his back. For all his tales of monsters, Avid never recognized the beast until it had already taken him.
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That night was unfairly beautiful. The moon hung clear and bright in a velvet sky, silver light spilling across brick and stone. Shadows stretched long in the still streets, and somewhere far off, a lone dog’s howl rattled the quiet. The air was too still—an expectant hush, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
That was when the squelch came, thick and wet, followed by a muted moan. Something viscous slid from the dark onto the cobbles with a soft plop. Weight pressed hard into Avid’s neck, sharp fingers scraping his cheek. The Father hummed low, almost tender, and the world seemed to tilt.
Avid’s breath tore out in shallow gasps. His knees weakened beneath him, heart pounding so fiercely it filled his skull with noise. He clutched at the Father’s cassock, purple eyes blown wide.
Monsters were real.
They were real!
He wasn’t–
The thought fractured. His head smacked hard against the stony street, the jolt sending sparks into the darkness gathering at the edges of his vision. Somewhere, someone screamed.
Crazy...