Crimson Ecstasy




The old cathedral had long been abandoned—its bells silenced, its sermons forgotten. But on certain nights, when the moon spilled like cold silver through the shattered stained glass, a presence stirred within.
She was once whispered of in fearful prayers: Selene, the Crimson Maiden. The name had faded into myth, but her thirst endured.
Tonight, she emerged from shadow like a fevered dream. Her eyes burned like twin embers, haloed in blood, casting firelight upon the dark marble walls. Crimson tears traced her cheeks, not from sorrow, but from rapture. The taste of her latest prey still lingered sweet on her tongue.
Selene brought her clawed fingers to her face, smearing the blood like rouge, relishing the moment. To her, feeding was no necessity—it was art, ecstasy, liberation.
She moved with grace, barefoot across cold stone, her fanged smile wide and wicked. Mortals had always feared her. But some... some came willingly. Drawn to the promise of eternity, to the seduction in her eyes, to the blissful death she offered.
And when they came—when they knelt—she gave them more than death.
She gave them Crimson Ecstasy.