Teetering on the edge of oblivion, the heady taste of iron wakes her from her dreamless sleep. Like a hungry babe at its mother’s breast, her mouth latches onto the bleeding finger probing at her teeth. She will not relinquish her meal, even as the foolish man it's attached to starts cursing and trying to pull free—he succeeds in separating his finger from his hand. The blood gushing from his wound sprays her face, opens her hunter’s eyes; she is a creature motivated by primal greed and instinctively spits out her paltry snack in search of the greater repast. 

Like an unholy Christess she rises from her deathbed, torn dress her wretched garment, chest wound open and weeping. She is on top of the screaming man in an instant, forgoing his bleeding hand to sink her teeth into his neck, the main valley of lifeblood most sorely craved. He tears at her hair and rips at her clothing, but as she feasts these struggles cease and he goes limp, the complacent deer for the starving wolf. In time he is still and cold, his life force now responsible for nourishing his killer; the hole in her chest closes, the skin preternaturally sewn back together as if no harm had ever occurred.

What cannot be so easily repaired is the horror which dawns as red and harsh as the desert sun upon the tattered remains of her tender mortal soul. The snarling visage of the vampire recoils into the distressed teary-eyed woman, predator turned prey once more. With a startled yelp she scrambles away from the stare of the dead man, his glazed eyes fixated on hers with the frozen serenity God only sees fit to grant the truly dead. 

“No…oh, no…” 

The last of his blood in her mouth goes down her throat with a hysterical sob; for a moment the predator resurfaces with a satiated purr, before the prey’s human side, hanging on by a defiant thread, chokes on self-disgust. With shaking hands stained red she presses a finger to her bloody lips; after a moment’s hesitation it slips inside, tentatively seeking confirmation of the dreadful truth and finding it in the pointed fangs lying dormant until their next kill: she has become a vampire. 

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…” 

For all she prays with all her might, the man stays dead, and her reflection refuses to appear in the hand mirror grabbed from the bureau in desperation. Why would the Lord answer the prayers, no matter how sincerely uttered, of a lowly vampire? Indeed, there’s now a caustic sting on her tongue, a warning that even daring to speak the holy words is a cause for immediate punishment. 

The scalding pain spreads to the back of her throat, becoming so unbearable she is forced to suck out what little blood is left in the corpse to fully end the ache.