I wake with a start. It was that dream again.
I had been in the shade of the forest, thirsty beyond reason. A warmblood intruded. I couldn't stop myself.
I didn't choose to be born with this curse. None of us did. It's just another one of this world's many injustices.
How could I have known he was a priest?
It wasn't the first time I've suffered the wrath of the powers. I've felt the insatiable hatred of those who call themselves holy, like standing frozen before a rampaging beast. I've been a victim of the detestable dark powers, who would have us be puppets on their strings.
We cursed folk live like prey animals, running and hiding. By the time we've shaken off our latest pursuer, the thirst has already gripped us. And when we are so fortunate as to quench it, we have to run and hide again.
But, this time, it was different. Before I fled to empty my stomach, I faced the wrath of that priest's master. It didn't hate me for my very being, or try to make me its plaything. It passed judgement on me for drinking blood, and caused the foreign blood to burn within my stomach. Every time I've tried since, the same thing has happened.
I've grudgingly learned to live without blood...
...and it has made me free.