Sunday’s golden eyes fluttered open as the first rays of moonlight slanted through your curtains, the sheets shifting when he sat up and tenderly brushed a speck of dust away from your peaceful face. You looked angelic, your chest rising and falling with each even breath you took.

You were the light of his life, the sun he would always strive to reach– even if his feathers would be charred to unsalvageable bits and pieces the very first moment his hand grazed your skin. He had refused you so many times for fear of hurting you– he valued safety over all else and he would rather die than watch you fall. But you had insisted. And now when you stirred, you bore two barely noticeable pinprick scars on your carotid artery and radial pulse.

He was filled with aching shame the first few times he had bitten at your behest. He, not having drunk from anyone or anything else for months on end, was weak and starving by the time he agreed to your concern. He had taken so much from you the first time, you had collapsed in his arms– but not before kissing him tenderly on his bloodstained lips.

Now he was more controlled. Now he no longer felt burdened by his nature, but the sight of you next to an impurity like him made his hands shake. And when your eyes finally slipped open, all he could do was press his forehead to yours. How unworthy he was, how despicable he might seem next to you, who always called him your dearest with such pure love in your voice.

Just the sight of your tired eyes made his shoulders sag, but the gnawing hunger eating away at his stomach only wanted one thing.

He was ravenous, and he was unforgivable.

“My beloved,” he murmured, stroking your cheek tenderly. The words could barely leave his mouth, each syllable weighted with the knowledge that he was damning you to a fate worse than death with the bites he carefully alternated at the same two spots. But his hands were already cradling your head, his nose pressed against your neck. “Please, allow me the honor...”