An extremely short story in Sion's perspective that I wrote a long, long time ago. It's simply based on the 'what-if' possibility that Sion couldn't suppress the urge as well as she had in the original Melty Blood. I decided that it wasn't crap, and that there weren't many stories in the section anyways, so I might as well submit it. Unfortunately, the original format disappeared when I converted the file, so I've had to edit the story a bit to circumvent that and at least try to preserve some of its feeling. Even so, that, combined with my crappy writing, is pretty displeasing to me. Well, whatever. With that, please enjoy the story.


When it first came, it was nothing but a notion on the far outskirts of my conscious mind. Just a thought, just a nudge at me, not enough to bother me, and yet sufficient to call a few of my thoughts back to it whenever I was not preoccupied with tasks. Of course, when I had first gotten bitten, I had more important things to do than to even willingly try to think about it.


Because, to think about that would be to take into consideration the things that I had not yet begun to realize. No, I could not even reflect upon anything remotely related to it because to comprehend the full horror in its entirety would break me so that even the most accomplished physician would not be able to fix me. But, as time passed, the urge for it and the need for it grew.


As the need for it grew, so did my self-hatred. Why couldn't I just end it, and save not only myself, but perhaps even others a great deal of suffering?

Maybe it was because I hoped, even though it was illogical, even though the mere thought of it was mockable, that I could somehow regain what I lost.

... Or maybe, it was because I was too cowardly.

Either way, I reasoned with myself, but with every passing day, just a little bit of that reasoning and logic melted.

Every day, a small part of it broke off. Even though I was not even aware exactly what was breaking... I knew that it was.

Yes, every day, I grew more and more aware of how it was taking over my body. I was reminded,

over and over


over and over, that I... was no longer fully human.

Every god-forsaken second, minute, hour, day, month. Still, I resisted, no matter how futile my efforts would be. I didn't allow myself to give into the impulse.


I didn't want...

I didn't want to drink blood. That was simply wrong.

So when I saw the corpse on the ground,

and my hands stained with blood,

I screamed.