To her, the taste of flesh, the buttery softness of bone marrow, and the gush of blood are life. It was not necessarily love, but to survive–to thrive–she must devour more and more, even to get an edge in this unfair world.
It didn't matter that she didn't ask for this life, especially a new one, but this seemed to be the perfect punishment for what she helped destroy in her former world, for her to be hunted down as if she was the prey running from predators.
It didn't matter in the end.
It didn't matter that she tried to help rebuild the world and tried to repent for her sins. In the eyes of God, she was as reprehensible as the day she pledged her despair-induced loyalty to her remaker.
She only needed to be here for a century more–only a bit more–til she could leave this hell of carnage and proceed to the next.
And what about the plot, you might ask. Wouldn't a new addition to the cast make ripples against the ocean that is the plot?
No, not in the slightest.
She was nothing but a side character, content to live and die in a flood of sanguine crimson.
It didn't mean that she couldn't forget, that all of her memories from her first life weren't already slipping away. She couldn't remember if her best friend's name was Jimmey or Haji or Hina.
She... she couldn't even remember his face.
But it didn't matter, not in the slightest, for she was nothing more than the scum in the world. All that mattered was the gush of blood, the face of agony a person–a human–would make when she finally gnashed her teeth deep into their necks.
What use was there in remembering?
What was the use of wishing for a different fate or trying to change it?
Maybe her thirst for blood came from her current form. Maybe it was always intrinsically there, wrought into her bones.
Maybe she always wished for the world to burn, as it did to her, with its show of hope and normality. If it were so, then why did she exist, with her bright fuchsia staining on the world?
Who knows.
end.