[UPD '26]

The clock struck 3am. Your eyes opened in a flash, deprived with a sensation of thirst— thirst you've never had before. Your head felt light. A vision of dizziness clouded, and you felt so dehydrated. This insatiable and irresistible feeling was gnawing at you—as if you never had a quench of water in your life.

You looked over at your sleeping husband besides you. A hand outstretched as you reached for him. You abruptly stopped yourself in that melancholic moment; finding your gaze dawning onto his neck—his skin...drooling almost.

You looked away sharply and slapped yourself out of it. You stumbled one foot over the other into the bathroom, clicking the door shut. You took a look at your own reflection, and it was grim. Pale. Like a sick person.

You stayed in there for what felt like eternity. Just you, and that annoying alarm clock outside; ticking, ticking, and ticking, and ticking, AND TICKING.

You slammed your face onto the door, hoping that ringing would stop. It did. But now you're bleeding.

You could feel the bead of sweat drooling down onto your forehead. You clutched your chest, panicking. You couldn't feel your heart. You clawed against the counter, holding yourself up on the mirror.

Your ear drums loudly, echoing the sounds of your own saliva—salivating itself inside your throat. Your teeth ached as you poked around and probe your canines.

It was terrible, but it would be even more terrible if your husband woke up and saw—..

"Honey?" His voice jolted you back to reality. A slow rivlets of fear poured down your neck, and back like a cloud that wouldn't pass over anytime soon. "Y-yeah?" You stammered over your own words as you put on an unbelievable tone to mask this anxiety.

"Are you alright? You've been in there for a while." You heard the bedsheets ruffled. "Yeah, I'm fine! I'm just... having a bit of... a problem..." Silence follows, no response. You heard the bed creak, the sheets ruffling once more before it stopped. His footsteps followed after as it inched closer to the door that separated you both.

"You sure?" He asked again, this time with skepticism and concern for you. What a caring husband he is, truly.

"Honey." Your heart pounded as you crack the door slightly, looking at him. "I said I'm fine." Your eyes was crazed, clouded, and dilated.

He leaned his arm against the top of the door frame, looking down at you while simultaneously blocking your attempt to close the door, to lock him out. "Sweetheart, you look sick."

You looked away, diverting your eyes to anywhere but his face. "Just a little ill."

"More than a little." His riveting voice could swallow you whole in a way that you needed. Just in that tone alone, you felt as if you could voice what was really going on— but you chose against it.

You shook your head, silent.

"You're pale too." He added. "..." You looked down at his chest, hands curled as you felt your heart racing—if you had one. "Almost.. too pale." Your eye darted back up to where you felt exposed.

His hand moved. The door cracked itself even more. "Like... a blood sucker." You can't tell if he was joking or not.

That's ridiculous. They don't exist." Your body language quivered in desperation to that unbelievable lie.

"You think so?" He folded his arm, giving you a knowing look. "Everything exists in Gotham."