This is your time, your life's flashing before your eyes and soon enough you will realize this is goodbye but what if I gave you a chance? You just have to sell your soul.

Aleksandria Emilia Petrova
Transmogrification –

It was a dark, quiet night, eerily quiet. A fog was setting in from the forest grounds surrounding the church in an ominous shadow. It seemed as though even nature turned its eyes away from the transmogrification that was about to take place. No one knew if what they were attempting was even possible much less if she would survive. But what choice did she have? Her fate had been decided from the moment she was conceived. It was a cruel fate for the young Bulgarian, but she would face it with the strength and courage of a seasoned warrior.

"Papa I'm frightened," she whispered, but despite her fear, Aleksandria's voice remained calm. She had been bathed, her hair brushed, her nails cleaned, her cheeks pinched, and her Sunday clothes washed all in preparation for the ceremony ahead. "What if I don't pass the test?"

"Hush now child. Your soul is as pure as it was the day you were born. You have nothing to be frightened of, Aleksandria. You find favour in God's eyes. Soon, fear will be frightened of you…" her father replied. "Come now. The bishop is waiting for you." Aleksandria nodded and followed her father into the main hall of the Catholic Church.

It was dim with the only light flickering from the brightly lit candles surrounding a marking that was etched into the floor. Aleksandria knew the marking from her studies; it was that of the Nephilim. Nephilim were an almost mythical creature mentioned three times in the Bible. They were supposed to be the descendants of angels who had relations with men. They were born smarter, faster, and stronger with the sight that allowed them to see past the mirrors of the supernatural world into the true soul of every being on earth. Usually Nephilim were born, but the Church believed that with a pure soul any human being could become Nephilim with the blood of an angel and the Mortal Cup. The Pope called it the Holy Grail. Her father spent nearly his whole life searching for the Cup, giving more than his sanity to bring it back to the Church. Aleksandria lost her father during that search, but she could almost swear that in that one moment his humanity returned as he silently lead her to her doom. No one dared look at her as she cautiously approached the circle. The ceremony began.

One by one the bishops offered their prayers of protection and sanctuary for themselves from the transformation. As they chanted, bowing their heads, giving the sign of the cross, and raising their heads to the Crucifix that hung on the wall, Aleksandria stepped into the circle. The flames grew and burned even more brightly. Her fear intensified. How could this possibly work if all she could think about was her failure? The chanting stopped. The only sound that now filled the dark Church was Aleksandria's breathing. Her father, Dragomir Petrova, took his place behind the altar and began his own incantations while pouring a thick red liquid into the Mortal Cup. When he was done, he took the cup and gave it to Aleksandria. "Drink, my child, and become a warrior of God." She took the cup, closed her eyes, and obeyed. The liquid was hot and tasted like nothing she had ever tasted before. A bitter, strong, pungent taste that nearly made her gag, but she held it back and swallowed. And then….nothing. She stood there for what seemed like an eternity; even the bishops began to whisper in dismay already accusing her of impurity for her failure. She was too scared to open her eyes and face them. The floor began to shake. Aleksandria opened her eyes as a blinding white light filled the Church. There was a high pitched wailing sound that pierced her eardrums like a knife as she screamed in pain. Her knees buckled beneath her and slammed into the stone floor as she grabbed her chest; it felt like her heart was going to explode. She dug her nails into the cracks that were overflowing with a sticky fluid that flowed past her fingertips into the surrounding cracks. She could feel the deepest parts of her soul were burning. Aleksandria looked up at the cross that hung from the ceiling of the Church; she could see blood running down from the nails that symbolized where Christ has been pinned to the cross. It whispered her name in a familiar voice; "Aleksandria."

But no matter how loudly she screamed, it still wasn't enough to drown out the cries of those around her.

This feeling's amazing, I know, but be careful; you know not what you wish for. Granted life again but now you've cheated death. There's nowhere to run when you run from yourself. But fear not for as long as you live you are mine, and even in death you will find; you've lived with regret for so long but now is your chance to change what has been wrong.

Metamorphosis –