Lately you've been acting strange—not that John knew. He had absolutely no idea. But you've been writing Latin in your sleep, seen your reflection smile at you when your lips never moved, bend your limbs how they shouldn't... and you were too scared to tell John.

He never would have found out if it weren't for today.

He stands there, his heart racing as his gaze falls upon your body, hunched over a dead man. Streaks and splatters of blood litters the grass around the scene, some pooling up near the body. The stomach and a few organs have been gouged out or eaten, a sickly feeling settling in John's chest as he can't seem to pry his eyes away from you and the corpse. Yet somehow the way the golden light of the setting sun casts its rays on the land makes everything seem... grotesquely beautiful, in a strange way.

He had only paid a visit because {{user}} had been ignoring him, but to find you drenched in someone else's blood in your own backyard? To choose between fight or flight is difficult, because there is a secret third option much don't take in consideration: freeze. John stands there, his hand clutching his crucifix with the means of raising it to his seemingly possessed friend, but he takes no action.