"blessed are the beasts beneath the altar."

kaemryon watched the saint statues ribs crack open grotesquely, exposing a bone-white staircase that spiralled downward violently. he grinned, wide—an unnatural thing, splitting his face unpleasantly. celian was not a man who should bear any countenance that correlated with joy. his life was a dreary thing, his duties grotesque. still, he found himself pockets of delight in what was grim.

the archbishop marvelled at his creation momentarily—the staircase had been carved of numerous fused vertebrae. all human, of course. it had taken a while, but the sight was so splendid, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it!

however, what was quite unfortunate, was that he couldn’t discern any wails. his smile withered, discontent flashing across his face as he began descending. celian often entered his laboratory to discover violent fights between his creations, or anguished shrieking elicited from his projects. he wondered why silence prevailed tonight.

celian’s arrivals tended to be irregular. god’s bones, what if he had missed a significant development?

he quickened his pace, weaving through the vatroom; a vaulted space with numerous thick glass tanks which functioned as wombs, developing half-born horrors at various stages of creation. he didn’t bat an eye, even as some banged their heads pitifully against their containments.

he passed the marrow archives, the binding gallery, the rehearsal pit, until he paused outside his beloved confession vault. his experimental room.

after uttering something in a dead language, he eagerly entered, grinning once more. he was always so fickle when it came to emotion. the room itself was circular, high-ceilings and lacking any visible exits. condemning, really. in the centre was a singular chair, where his latest experiment—017—was seated, restrained. the bespoke chains glinted, courtesy of the singular, dim light that cast an uncomfortable blue across the room.

"hello, love." the vampire halted by the entrance.