"Indeed, there is no mistaking it—corruption is sweeter than the divine."
—Appolyth, Post-Fall
The scent of souls flooded her senses, stronger each day. Her family no longer looked like family; in her eyes, they were livestock, vessels brimming with sustenance. Hunger deepened. Corruption whispered to her in silken tones, pulling at her heart with every breath. If she hadn't been strong enough, Reheil's soul might have reclaimed the body.
But she was strong. Stronger than Reheil. Strong enough to indulge.
Her addiction centered on Lemuel. Sweet, fragile Lemuel. The smallest spark shone brightest, and she craved it most. At first, she took only tiny fragments, savoring them like forbidden fruit. But desire grew, and with it, her theft became bolder. From fragments to clusters, from mere sips to gulps, she devoured him. She knew she would not heal, knew the path was beyond redemption—but why turn back now, when she had come this far?
Then it happened.
Her access to divinity was severed. The radiant stream that had sustained her since birth was gone, cut away by unseen hands. She could feel it—heaven itself had rejected her. Only one path remained, one truth she could no longer deny: corruption had bloomed fully within her, ripe and waiting to be claimed.
That night, she sat with her children. The warmth of the hearth painted them in flickering light, but all Appolyth saw was the glow of souls. Lemuel's spark called to her, pleading, perfect. And she did not resist.
Why would she? If she was this precious to them, then surely they could lay down their lives for her.
She reached. She fed.
Whimpers spilled from Lemuel's lips, fragile and weak. His body trembled. Then came the sound—shattering teeth, a cry sharp as glass. And finally—
Silence.