Midnight’s Embrace: The Curse of the Crimson Moon

The winter wind howled like a living thing.

Old churches dotted the outskirts of the city—abandoned, half-buried in snowdrifts. Tonight I was drawn to one in particular, as if an invisible thread guided my footsteps across the frozen streets. Moonlight poured through ragged clouds, turning every snowflake into drifting shards of glass.

**Seraphina.**

Her name still echoed in my mind from the night before. A name both sharp and fragile. I couldn't shake the tremor in her voice when she'd whispered it.

Why did she vanish so suddenly?

Why had I felt… warm, standing next to a creature who should terrify me?

Questions stabbed at my ribs with each breath. I ignored them and pressed on, boots crunching in rhythm with my heartbeat.

Then I saw it: a ruined cathedral, its spire cracked, its stained-glass windows shattered into jagged, multicolored fangs. Snow covered the worn stone steps, but faint footprints—too light to be human—led inside.

My pulse quickened.

She must be here.

---

### Inside the nave

I pushed open the massive oak doors. They groaned like an old beast disturbed from slumber. The scent of cold ash and dust greeted me. Crimson moonlight streamed through the jagged holes in the roof, painting the pews in eerie stripes of red.

"H… hello?" My voice trembled, swallowed by the vast emptiness.

Nothing answered—at first.

Then… a whisper.

Soft. Distant. Like wind slipping between the altar columns.

> *"Leave… leave before you regret…"*

I swallowed hard. *Imagination,* I told myself. Just echoes in an abandoned church.

I stepped down the central aisle, boots stirring thin clouds of frost. My eyes traced faded frescoes on the cracked walls—angels missing their wings, saints with hollowed eyes. The hush felt almost sacred, yet cold enough to freeze prayers mid-sentence.

Halfway to the altar, the whisper returned, louder this time.

> *"Ren…"*

I spun around—nothing. The hush resumed. But now my skin prickled; the air itself seemed to vibrate with hidden voices.

A shiver slid down my spine. Not fear. Something stranger—recognition. Voices within the stone murmured half-remembered words. As if the cathedral itself was trying to speak.

> *Whisper… hush… blood… dawn…*

I forced myself forward. "Seraphina—are you here?"

---

### The crypt stairway

Behind the pulpit, an arched doorway yawned into darkness. Those faint, non-human footprints led downward, into a spiral stairwell chiseled from black stone. Breath fogged each step as I descended.

Every few seconds I thought I heard footsteps behind me—always gone when I turned.

My flashlight cut slices through the dark. The beam fell upon dusty marble coffins, their lids cracked open; ancient family crests eroded beyond reading. Cobwebs clung to iron sconces like torn veils.

And then the whispers grew clear:

> *"Monster… Savior…"*

> *"Cursed moon… broken vows…"*

I froze. The voices sounded like dozens of overlapping murmurs, echoing inside my skull rather than my ears. Cold sweat dripped down my neck—right over the healing fang marks.

I clutched the railing until my knuckles ached. "Stop messing with me," I hissed, half to the ghosts, half to the panic clawing at my throat.

Silence fell again—until a softer, familiar voice cut through:

> "Ren."

I looked up.

---

### Seraphina's chamber

At the base of the stairs, the crypt opened into a wide chamber lit by candles stuck into melted pools of wax. At its center stood Seraphina. Her cloak was folded neatly over a stone altar; white dress shimmering in candlelight like liquid snow.

For a heartbeat she stared, stunned I'd found her. Then she pressed two fingers to her lips—silent plea for quiet.

Behind her, a decaying iron gate framed a black tunnel deeper into the earth. Faint moon-red light leaked through cracked ceiling slabs, bathing her hair in shimmering scarlet.

She stepped forward. "How did you—" she began, but a sudden roar of wind erupted through the tunnel, snuffing half the candles. The whispers returned, frantic:

> *"Hun-ter… hun-ter… silver… death…"*

Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "He followed me."

"Who?"

She didn't answer; instead she grabbed my wrist with surprising gentleness. "We need to hide."

But I pulled back. "No. We face him together. Tell me what those voices are."

She hesitated. In the half-light her pupils thinned, ruby irises glowing. "This cathedral is a sanctuary for… echoes. Memories of those I've drunk." She swallowed. "Their last words haunt these walls. They warn me when danger approaches."

My breath caught. The whispers were dying screams?

I didn't have time to process; a heavy clank echoed up the stairwell—iron boots on stone.

Seraphina pushed me behind a crumbling pillar. Over her shoulder I glimpsed a broad-shouldered man descending, lantern in one hand, the silver-edged crossbow in the other—the hunter from last night.

---

### The hunter's challenge

He halted at the crypt floor, lantern casting grotesque shadows on coffins. His eyes swept the chamber—cold, methodical. When he spoke, his voice was gravel laced with disdain.

> "Come now, moon-witch. I know you're hiding."

Seraphina stepped into the open, cloak swirling. Her calm surprised even me. "You're trespassing on sacred ground," she said.

He chuckled. "Sacred? To leeches, maybe." He lifted the crossbow. Bolts carved with runes gleamed. "I only need one good shot."

I shifted, ready to run out—but Seraphina's hand rose slightly: *stay*.

The hunter snarled. "And the human you keep for feed? I'll carve him from your fangs when you're dust."

Blood rushed in my ears. I stepped forward in anger, but Seraphina darted faster, blocking me with her body.

> "Touch him, and the moon itself won't find your corpse," she hissed.

For a moment, I saw it—the predator beneath her gentle sadness. Her voice carried a centuries-old chill.

The hunter fired.

Seraphina shoved me aside as the bolt streaked through the air—too fast for my eyes. With a blur she deflected it; sparks flew where silver touched stone. The impact blasted dust clouds across the crypt.

When it cleared, she stood unharmed. But a thin line of smoke rose from her palm; the silver had grazed her skin, burning black.

The hunter loaded another bolt. "You can't dodge forever."

Seraphina's eyes flashed. "I don't need forever."

She launched forward with speed that shattered the air. The hunter fired again—too slow. In a heartbeat she was behind him, hand on his shoulder, twisting—then a crack echoed as she disarmed him, crossbow skittering across marble.

But the hunter wasn't ordinary. From his belt he drew a dagger—silver blade etched in holy symbols—slashed upward. Seraphina recoiled, hiss of flesh meeting consecrated metal.

---

### The void-flash

Something inside me snapped.

I couldn't watch her bleed for me.

Without thought, I raised my hand. A pulse of cold light erupted from my fingertips—white tinged with violet, like moonlight condensed into flame. It arced toward the hunter, striking his dagger. Metal sang, shards of silver evaporating.

The hunter staggered, eyes wide. "What—"

I stared at my own hand, electricity crackling along my veins. Seraphina's gaze locked onto mine—shock, recognition, fear, wonder all at once.

> "Ren… your blood awakened… something."

Before we could speak, the hunter retrieved his fallen crossbow, retreating toward the stairs. His eyes burned with hatred—and fear.

> "This isn't over, witch. And you, boy… you're cursed now."

He fled into darkness. The echoes screamed after him—names, pleas, warnings.

Silence returned like a collapsed lung.

---

 Moonlit confession, part 2

Seraphina knelt, breathing hard. The slash on her arm smoked black, but slowly sealed. I rushed to her side.

"You're hurt—"

"It's nothing," she murmured, but her eyes never left my hand, still glowing faintly. "You… protected me. Even after knowing what I am."

"I told you," I said quietly, "I'm not leaving you alone in the cold."

Her voice broke: "You don't understand what you're tying yourself to."

"Then explain," I said. "Because I'd rather walk this cursed night with you than return to my empty life."

She stared. In the distant silence, the whispers softened—almost approving.

Finally, she placed her trembling hand over mine.

> "Then listen, Ren. The curse of the crimson moon is more than hunger. It's a prophecy tied to blood—and now it flows through you too."

I didn't flinch. I squeezed her hand.

> "Tell me everything," I whispered. "And we'll face it together."

The faintest smile touched her lips—a fragile sunrise in a graveyard.

Above us, through the shattered ceiling, the crimson moon glowed… and for the first time, it felt a little less cold.