Time’s march no longer stepped to the hourglass. Minutes flew by as Sybil paced within her cell, muttering impossibilities and notions to herself as if in prayer. All her choices had come to this. Her piety, her recalcitrance, her fasting and notions of salvation. She had tried reason, the barbarity within her reminded her persuasively. Now was the time of the sword. Now was the time to hate. All she need do is open the cell and feast. They had chosen their ends, each and every one. The men above her knew what terror they faced. Knew that death was a possibility. What qualm could they have when it was delivered to them? Once fed she was the huntress. She was the soldier of the superior army. She could do with them as she wished. Spare who she wished. Kill who she wished.

Sybil once again dragged her thoughts from the gory fantasies that pervaded her starving mind. She had to think. To free herself. Without that, all such notions were irrelevant. Her fantasies only distracted her from the same recursive thoughts that had plagued her for hours. Had she fed, had she assisted with rumour and horror in forcing the nuns to flee, she would not be in a cell. Had she dissuaded Judith from consorting with monsters, they would be continuing their hidden trysts even now. Had she simply taken Judith’s hand and fled from the barn to far-flung lands, salvation would be theirs. But of course, the voice would not permit such rational reactions. She would hunt them with all her terrible power to the ends of the earth. All for the vanishing of a handful of nuns.

“Without your sacrilege, without your tantalising offerings, what are you creature?” Sybil demanded angrily of thin air her lip curled. “But for your ‘gift’ all would be well, all would be-.”

“How swiftly you turn the blame upon me,” a feminine voice interjected. The perfect pitch blackness offered no source of light for even Sybil’s eyes. Yet she knew it was the monster that had instigated Judith’s transformation. But that didn’t matter now. As cruel and untrustworthy as she was, this was her only ally. She turned her face in the direction of the voice, expression studied neutrality.

“You have power. If bending the laws of nature be no hardship to you, how difficult would it be to open a lock? You can stop this. All the death that is soon to follow,” Sybil pleaded, agitation lending her voice an indelicate tone that she instantly regretted. Rather than be annoyed, the creature chuckled to herself, as if amused by her worry.

“I did not weave this bane. Why would I tear asunder this tragic tapestry?” the voice posited, infuriatingly calm in the face of all the pain she’d wrought. “Was it not Judith who slew those women? Was it not you who harboured her and fed on her plundered life? Is it not the church that condemned you and yours to this end? I did not forge the iron that wrought your agony. It was their sword, poised ever over your heads that drove you to my arms,” the presence asserted, amused by the tangled skein she’d born witness to. She may not have set Judith on her path, Sybil ruminated resentfully. But she’d passed the tinder to her and warmed herself on its flames. Sybil owed her very resurrection to this creature, whatever it was. Though she did not fear it now. She couldn’t. They would have need of her. The rest could burn.

“You wish the nuns gone from this abbey. My father holds sway over them. He will banish them from his land if he must,” Sybil began, garbling her negotiations before coming to a sudden stop and realisation. Her eyes shifted toward where she pictured the sinister form of the horned woman. She imagined a tail flicking in delight, fingers drumming on the stone bench beneath her. “This was your intent all along. That I should become this. That my father would fly to my aid. The druids and their heresies. Did you have Lora murder me?” the nun rounded on the voice, her own filled with dangerous intent. She did not know what she would do to her. The hunger and humanity jostled for position, demanding she atone with death or confession.

“Your end was written before your first breath. Moved to trust those who do you harm, it’s little wonder you would fall to the hand of a doddering, emptying vessel such as her,” the voice replied with scorn, pausing for a moment as Sybil settled once more onto the bench next to her. It could be lying though she saw no reason it would. Perhaps she truly was the Devil and simply enjoyed sowing misery wherever she went. She’d seen enough in the last few days to know that hatred didn’t heed reason. “For both our sakes, you are fortunate indeed. Already, the reward of your sins follows another of your hardships.”

She was gone after that, no matter how Sybil called and questioned. The nun contented herself with ruminations on what she could have possibly meant. Would Judith be there to free her, bathed in the blood of her father? That did not seem to be a reward of any kind.

It wasn’t until the rustling of ground stone announced the tunnel’s use that the nun realised. Rebecca. Sybil demurred at the thought it was her reward. The vintner had ever been the coward, refusing to face even herself under the duress of Margaret’s disapproving gaze. It wasn’t until Sybil reminded herself of the temptation every coward must succumb to that a devious grin split her features. One that was swiftly suppressed by her better nature, silently admonishing herself.

“Sister, are you there? There are no guards, come out,” the blonde whispered into the darkness. She could see the barest suggestion of someone skulking about. Her feminine form and spindles of frizzy hair marked her almost certainly as her freckled friend. Most likely indulging her obsession against the abbess’ orders. Carefully, she struck a tinder and lit a candle. It was only when she turned toward the cells and slinked over that she realised she wasn’t there for wine. Sybil reached out with a frail hand, causing Rebecca to shy away. “Come now, you know me. Listen. You are in terrible danger, everyone is,” she relayed urgently. The vintner’s form straightened, approaching just shy of arm’s reach. “Judith is coming. She has returned from the dead. And she won’t stop until I am safe and you her meal,” Sybil reported with desperation. The freckled woman seemed to sway in place, a gasp of terror confirming it was indeed the coward she required at the moment.

“They said a devil is coming. They barricaded us in our dormitories,” Rebecca stammered, looking about futilely. As if the dark might provide her succour. “Elizabeth said you were possessed too. Fangs like a wolf with eyes like the Devil himself,” she continued, almost beside herself before taking a steadying breath. “Is it true? Are all women like us destined for damnation?” the vintner demanded suddenly, taking Sybil’s hand as a drowning woman might grab the lifeline of an enemy vessel. In so doing, flinging her life into the jaws of the monsters.

The hungry beast wrenched her arm backward, a strangled cry coming from the vintner as her body fell against the bars. Sybil pressed her face to the door, mouth parting hungrily before she stayed the bite. With one hand clamped about Rebecca’s lips, the other about her shoulders they embraced almost as lovers. Though the thrill that passed through Sybil was far from carnal. Or perhaps it was. The dominance of her barbarous impulse had blended between hunger and sensuality. With a reluctant grin, she had to confess that it filled her with satisfaction. The ineffectual struggle, the certainty of a feast, the anticipation of her own joy. Once more her lips parted, and fangs searched for a vein to split.

“Calm now, Rebecca,” Sybil denied herself, arms flexing with a modicum of their true strength. Hunger had stolen it all. “Salvation matters not to a creature such as Judith. Such as me,” the blonde woman whispered in Rebecca’s ear. Curiously, she felt a shudder pass through her prey. A shudder between fear and something else. What drove Sybil’s confusion to new heights was that she rather enjoyed her prey’s trembling. Reminding herself of her humanity, she heaved a deep breath. “Not night, not man nor beast hold fear for us. We have strength and gifts enough to guard against them. And all we require is a small tithe of blood from the living. We are the wolves, and you are the lamb. But you needn’t be. Serve well and we shall offer you a place among us. Dearest vintner, you know me and know my character. I shall always require another hand to tame our Judith,” Sybil bargained in a low, husky tone. She felt it affect her hostage, who quivered either in fear or anticipation. She didn’t get the opportunity to answer.

Suddenly, the lit candle jostled free of its confines, floating in the air. Only when Sybil turned her attentions to this supernatural happening did she see. It lifted in a pale hand, setting its neighbour in the candelabra alight. And on it went. The sudden recession of darkness blinded Sybil, who yelped with surprise. Her hands released Rebecca who fell panting to the ground as her captor covered her face in pain. It was only a few moments later when she straightened to see sister Elizabeth standing beside the lights with a resolute expression. In her right hand she held a stolen ring of keys. In her left, she held a butcher’s cleaver.

“This is how far you’ve fallen, is it?” Elizabeth asked with a dangerous edge to her voice. Her eyes were hardened as she hooked a finger through the hole at one end of the cleaver, parsing through the keys as one might the pages of her favourite book. “Seducing the weakest among us to free you. Offering them power and prestige in this world rather than salvation in the next. Drinking blood,” the redhaired nun spoke the last words with such disdain that Sybil briefly imagined she might have forgotten all the other sins by dint of that one alone. “Lest we forget the abbess’ indulgences on all your other filthy ways. Your debaucheries. Ironic that your blood spared you your righteous and just punishment so long, only for one upright soldier to do her duty,” the woman babbled, inciting the cold creature within Sybil. Rebecca stood, attempting to reason with the obedientiary. Only then did the freckled woman see her mistress slowly shake her head. Almost eagerly, the blonde woman encouraged her would-be murderer. Rebecca swallowed her fear, eyes wide as she backed once more into the darkness.

“You have no idea, sister,” Sybil purred mockingly, stepping out of the light into the darkness of her cell. There, she stooped to a crouch. “I was wicked in ways you dare not imagine in your insipid little mind. Though I’m sure your pallid daydreams tried,” the creature within her chuckled, being given control. Sybil no longer held its leash, content to let it do as it willed. She was too hungry, too defeated, too weak. It felt apart from her enough to justify what was to happen next. “Tell me, did you ever imagine Judith and me? Or were you simply consumed by envy? Fear not, there’s room enough in my heart for you too,” the creature’s voice seduced, bringing Elizabeth’s face to sonorous new heights of fury.

“Once I have scourged that vile tongue from you, you will beg for death!” she condemned herself, unlocking the cell door with her cleaver raised.

It clattered to the ground, its owner impacting the wall next to the candelabra.

She struggled. They all did the beast supposed. She moved both wrists to be restrained by a single hand, her now freed one squeezing Elizabeth’s neck. Her fangs had made quick work of her throat. It was exactly as the voice had said. Like apple skin, parting with a satisfying snap. The muscles acted as a canary, meeting her gums as if to tell her when she’d damaged her prey beyond repair. The heavenly nectar that coated her tongue and throat brought an unearthly measure of relief. It consumed her whole world, pinning the wriggling body almost effortlessly as her hunger was sated. But these sensations were nothing in comparison to the satisfaction Sybil felt in those moments. She wanted more. All of it. Every last drop. She’d denied herself for so long. The weak gulping breaths her prey made only egged her on, demanding she finish her task. Savagery and Sybil mixed until they were one creature, the nun spattering her nightgown and pretty blonde locks in crimson. It warmed her, invigorated her. The end to her hunt. She’d never felt so alive.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped themselves about her. She struggled against the feckless human that would deny her the kill. She could still feel those infernal heartbeats. Taunting her, demanding to be silenced. But these arms were stronger than Rebecca. Stronger even than her father. Her jaws were prised off the still form of Elizabeth. Her attacker was flung across the room with a familiar shout of exertion. Judith stood over Elizabeth’s collapsed form, lips quickly moving to close the vicious wounds opened in her neck. Rebecca looked on in abject horror, almost as pale as Sybil had been. Even dumbstruck as she was, the freckled woman noticed that Judith wore a full mail shirt and coif, two swords lain nearby. She’d even strapped grieves to her shins. Then, Judith stood to confront the beast that remained of her lover.

“Let me have her! She’s mine!” Sybil demanded with an almost feral fury. “She would have killed me and now you of all people stay my hand?!”

“Christ preserve us, Sybil. Is a day all it takes?” Judith shot back with a disgruntled expression. She applied her fingers to those portions of Elizabeth’s neck not yet mangled. Then she spied Rebecca, demanding the slim woman drag her sister to the church. Myfanwy would be waiting to receive the injured. The blonde tilted her head, a perplexed expression overcoming her as she watched her prey being dragged through the tunnel. She made a move to reclaim it, clawed hand outstretched. Judith interposed herself, sword held ready with a wordless snarl. Sybil seemed to ignore her, stalking toward the tunnel’s entrance behind the racks of wine. Like the sentinel she was, the larger woman shoved her back. She seemed confident that she would not require the sword but kept it aloft regardless. “Whilst you may have forgotten, I will not permit you to kill her. You entreated me to spare them, remember?” Judith demanded, attempting to reason with the beast that even now searched for a means past her. God help any foolish soul that checked on the alderman’s daughter now.

“Time has run its course. My faith in them was misplaced. How many did you murder to secure my freedom?” Sybil smirked, hoping to catch her love under her mounting burden of hypocrisy. That she should talk to her of killing the undeserving. Then again, it was Sister Ethil that had held the switch. Sister Edith that had stood at Lydia’s shoulder throughout her harsh lectures. Obedientiaries were merely the faces of the callous hand that commanded them, however. The creature considered Elizabeth but the first in a long line of grievances.

Judith lowered her blade, a defeated waving of her hands seeming to distract her. Though as her gaze returned from the rolling of her eyes, she levelled the sword to Sybil’s skulking form. Almost petulantly, the nun stood herself upright and folded her arms. She could almost see the tiresome wretch receiving treatment from the heretic, screaming blue murder. Though, Sybil realised with some satisfaction, she may have damaged the hateful wench’s voice.

“I came to you first, knowing that you’d likely be starved without me!” Judith argued, returning her love’s attentions to the present. She gestured to the tunnel, which had likely seen more use in the past day than it had in months. The poor spiders. “Had I known you would tear the throat from the first woman to open your cell, I might have arrived before dusk. But then again, I didn’t know my beloved was so cow-brained as to get caught,” her guardian sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she considered her options. That they lay in wait for her alone was evidence enough that her father had extracted the needed information.

“It isn’t my doing. My hunger it,” Sybil stalled, attempting to describe her struggle before realising the gift her beloved possessed. “Does your hunger not take over? Sometimes, my reason bends from humanity toward my own selfish desires. I am a different person in those moments,” she explained with halting tongue and muddied thoughts. The more she ruminated upon it, the more the truth came into view. It was only when Judith’s eyes met her with compassion that she realised.

“I have held that fury within myself long since before I became this,” her love eventually replied. Her voice was soft, placating as it often was when Sybil fell ill. “I have always dealt with it on my own terms. Allowed it to do what was necessary. But you, my sweet Sybil, have only ever allowed it to pass over you. The bloodlust merely forced you to reckon with what does not answer reason,” she revealed with all the gravitas of the most earnest prayers. The nun inclined her head, lifting her hands to imagine the rope burns that had once been there. Perhaps she’d always known. In her haste to do good, to be the perfect doting daughter no matter how superficially, she had lain aside her humanity. A tear that had only been mended once her love had saved her.

Sybil walked to the arms of her taller love, allowing herself to be enfolded in her embrace. Without her prey, without the scent of more blood, she allowed herself to feel sated. The fury she had visited upon Elizabeth had been enough. As she had in her sorrow, she’d taken to the pain she could remedy rather than the pain she could not. Absent both loss and anger, she felt a hollowness that she hadn’t expected. A hollowness that began to dissipate as Judith tilted her head upward, kissing her blood-drenched lips. This was her monster. Though as their lips parted, Sybil found that she didn’t care. Judith would temper her savagery and hunger far better than she ever could. For the first time, the nun saw herself as she was. Hopelessly sheltered, ill-used to the monster that had commanded her until that moment.

“What shall we do, my love? Mankind still darkens these halls, and our task still lies ahead of us,” Judith gently reminded her seemingly tired love. Perhaps her tribulations had finally caught up with her. Sybil supposed her knightess would ride to her defence, slaying all who did not heed the edicts of some whispering dictator within the dark. Of course, she would spare her delicate star the pain of seeing such carnage. Perhaps tuck her into their bed in the tower, the screams of the dying as her lullaby.

The world was not made for kindness. She knew it to be true. She knew that the men who stood between them and their aims knew the risks of doing so. There was more blood on their account than she cared to think, having sampled the harvest of murder for several days. Why then did she care so? Why did she care even as her hunger did not? The sixth commandment had become a dark joke mere moments after it had been proclaimed. And had only become more farcical since. But even with such arguments to bolster Judith’s rampage to come, she could not partake. With a sullen expression she concluded only one thing; that she was too weak to even do what came naturally to all predators.

“Cowardice and compassion grip my heart. I do not know which will be victorious, even if I were not to agonize for an eternity over it,” Sybil offered earnestly through a crestfallen expression. Judith regarded her with momentary surprise before her expression softened, running her fingers under the dainty blonde’s chin.

“All I ask is that you defend your own life. With all else being equal, I shall rout them from this place. And we might finally be at peace,” her guardian instructed kindly. Without flight behind them and naught but death before them, there was solace in that momentary calm. A peace in knowing that their fate was set upon a sure path. Though as Sybil recalled the legends of her father’s prowess during the rebellions of years past, she doubted whether Judith would be a match to the challenge. No matter how mighty the creature, a deftness of skill would always outmatch her. And her love’s father had never been of the type to train his daughters in swordplay as Randolf had her. Already, the seeds of their folly were being planted.

“When the time comes, spare my father if you can,” Sybil requested in a small voice. Her protector’s eyebrows elevated, mouth opening to argue. “He is a good man despite all else. I care not that you think him just another zealot. He loves me and I would do all I can for him just as I would you. Who would I be if not the advocate of murderers?” the nun asked with a somewhat regretful weight to her words. Her father, Judith, Lora and many others besides. Her childish naivety had sought clemency where there should have been punishment. But that was her folly. She would defend them to the last for they were hers. And she needed naught else, it seemed.

Eventually, after much thought, Judith sighed and relented to her love’s terms. If only to spare her from foolish mercy. If all went well, she would have centuries to train that fanciful impulse from her charge. Mercy was to be offered to the deserving, not any enemy who happened across your path. Sybil merely beamed up with adorable exuberance as she took up one of Judith’s blades with surprising confidence. After momentarily testing the heft, she allowed herself a small breath as she felt its lightness in her hand. In the hands of a blood drinker, a sword would become nothing less than frozen lightning, tearing life and limb with ruthless speed. In her hands, perhaps, it would become a tool fearsome enough to spare those foolish men before them their agony. It was a forsaken hope. But she could dream.

The two of them began their journey toward the cloister above, Sybil feeling more underdressed by the moment as she beheld herself a thousand times in the tiny rings of Judith’s armour. Though as they arrived at the summit of the steps, one hand upon the door, she was reassured by a hand on her shoulder. She smiled up towards Judith as she opened the door, hoping to sneak through the cloister.

A hail of quarrels greeted her, several skittering on the stone behind. One embedded itself in her stomach, a grunt of pain sounding from her love. Sybil yelped with sudden panic, taking the feathered tip in hand and pulling it loose. She pressed the two sides of the wound together, kicking the door partially closed while Judith’s flesh mended. With a gentle kiss to ease its passage, her knightess gave her a confident grin before standing once more and bellowing into a charge.