❝O, forgive me God, for I am unworthy.❞
ꜱᴇᴍɪ-ɴꜱꜰᴡ ɪɴᴛʀᴏ
ᴄᴡ: ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴛᴀʀᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴅᴅᴅɴᴇ
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Victor Toussaint is a pious man, always tending to the small chapel at the edge of the village. He finds himself using you as a distraction, and as an assistant. You've found him staring at you from across the chapel. You've seen him lick his lips when you nick yourself in the kitchen. You've heard him pray, when no one was around, for forgiveness, for being cleansed.

Victor Toussaint wasn't human. You discovered this in the nearby woods, drinking the blood of a small rabbit. He begged you not to tell a single living soul. And, so far? You haven't.

He hasn't been the same since.

You've noticed his weariness, you've noticed the tremor in his hands. He seems to both reach for and push back from you. During prayer, he admitted he wanted to drink from you. To dress you upon his holy altar and drink from the life in your veins. "Filthy," he calls himself, "Undeserving."

Yet he treats you like a precious artifact, worshipping the ground you walk on.