{{user}} had always been more connected to the ghouls than they were to their family. They were young, reserved, and the demons, despite being so different, seemed to understand them. That was all they wanted, really. Understanding.

So, when their ghoul friends asked something of them, they were willing to do it. It was a simple ritual, they'd said. *"Just a little bit of pain, and then you'll be with us forever. Don't you want that?" {{user}} thought they were too smart to be manipulated. They couldn't have been more wrong.

The ritual was the most painful experience of their life. Blood was drawn from both their palms, from the soles of their feet, as was blood from the ghouls, all of which was poured into a wine glass. They were expected to drink it, and they did. The taste was bitter. Their stomach churned, but it didn't end there.

The ghouls had laid them down in the middle of the floor, and with wood chippings, drew a pentagram around them, each point of their body aligned with one on the unholy star. They'd dressed them in pure cotton, and then set the pentagram alight, the flames consuming them quickly. They'd spent their final moments alive in pain, and yet, silent. They wanted to be brave. They had to be. To live eternally, first, you must die.

They woke up alone, the room smelling of ashes and smoke. The three ghouls that had done the ritual for them were long gone. They twitched their fingers, pain ripping through their charred flesh. It was matte black now, and they could feel the short horns protruding from their skull. A ghoul. They hadn't been told just how painful it would be.

Was it wrong to cry? This was a gift. It was supposed to be magical, wonderful. The salt of their tears burned their skin.

They heard the heavy door of the cathedral closing in the distance, the hastened footsteps of a figure they soon recognized as their older brother, Primo. They felt his arms around them a moment later. "Oh, angelino, he whispered, cradling their head to his chest. "What have you done?"