Alvaris sat in a dark alley, leaning against a damp stone wall. He was breathing shallowly, the cold air stinging his lungs as he looked at the woman's lifeless body on the ground. Blood stained his hands, dried and cold, leaving only the smell of iron in the air. His body shook, not from the cold, but from the intense emotions flooding through him.
He had killed her. No, he had consumed her.
The memory flashed in his mind: she had barely fought back, almost welcoming her end, as if her life had become too heavy to carry. He hadn't needed to use much force. But it wasn't just her death that haunted him now—it was the rush of her emotions and memories that hit him when she died.
Alvaris pressed his hands against his head, shutting his eyes tight to block out the flood of images that weren't his. He saw a little boy—her son—laughing and running in a park, full of life. Then, a hospital room filled with machines beeping, the cold pain, and the nurse's emotionless eyes. And then came the guilt.
The guilt slammed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs. It wasn't a quick feeling; it felt like a heavy weight that wouldn't lift. For ten years, this woman had carried it with her: the regret of an abortion, the life she had lost. Her new family couldn't erase that pain, and now her guilt was his.
Alvaris staggered to his feet, struggling to keep his balance as her emotions overwhelmed him. He shook as he leaned against the wall, trying to breathe steadily, but each breath filled him with her despair.
He had felt this way before—after the first two people he had killed. But this was different. Those deaths had been quick and clean. There hadn't been any memories or emotions haunting him, just the sick hunger that followed. But this woman... she was different. Something of her remained with him.
Why?
He looked down at his hands, the blood now dark in the dim light. His heart raced as the pieces started to come together.
A curse.
She must have had a minor curse. That was the only explanation for why he felt so different this time. Her memories and emotions were clawing at his soul, refusing to let go.
His heart raced with the realization. He hadn't just taken her life; he had taken everything. Her memories. Her pain. Her guilt. Now they were part of him, woven into who he was.
For a moment, the weight felt unbearable. The urge to escape this flood of emotions surged within him. But then, something shifted. Beneath the storm of guilt and confusion, a strange calm began to rise.
Alvaris forced himself to breathe deeply, his shaking hands clenching into fists. He wasn't just a prisoner of this curse. He had to find a way to control it, to live with it, to resist it.
But he couldn't ignore the truth: the urge to consume would always be there, gnawing at him. He had tried to resist before, and each time he had failed. But now, he felt something different—a brief sense of relief, a quiet moment in his mind. The urge had eased, if only for a bit.
Maybe... just maybe, I can handle this.
The thought was terrifying, yet liberating. He had to consume to survive—there was no way around that. But he could choose who and when to consume. He could limit the damage, reduce the deaths, and learn to master this curse instead of letting it control him.
His mind drifted back to Shak, the cursed wolf whose immortality now flowed through him. Shak had controlled his curse for centuries, bending it to his will. Alvaris could do the same. He had to. If he didn't, he would lose himself, just like this woman had lost herself to her guilt.
The memories of her life—her family, her child—still ached in his chest. He could never truly forget them, but he could live with them. Maybe, in a twisted way, they could remind him of what he was fighting for.
"I can do this," he whispered into the cold night. His voice trembled, but his determination was clear.
For the first time, Alvaris felt a sense of purpose. He would find a way to live with this curse—to control it, no matter how heavy the guilt and memories felt.
He glanced at the woman's body one last time, her face now peaceful in death. She hadn't fought him. Maybe, in a desperate way, she had wanted this.
Alvaris turned away, resolved. He had a curse to master.
He found a small clearing on the edge of town, where the buildings were sparse and the cold wind hit him hard. Kneeling down, he closed his eyes, trying to find his balance—but the memories he had consumed were pulling him into a past that wasn't his own.
Suddenly, he found himself in a hospital room. The air felt heavy, making every breath a struggle. Alvaris saw the woman he had consumed lying on a hospital bed, shaking. He tried to move or speak, but his body wouldn't listen. He was stuck, watching her memories unfold.
Doctors surrounded her, their voices flat and detached, as if she was just another case. Her eyes were wide with fear and despair. She looked much younger than when Alvaris had taken her life. The decision she faced weighed on her like a ton of bricks. He could almost feel the pressure in his chest.
She had a reason to choose abortion; her body was weak. The doctor's cold words echoed in the room: "It's your life or the child's." She couldn't bear to leave her husband alone or to make her son an orphan. It was the hardest choice she ever had to make—to save herself for her family.
Alvaris felt himself sinking into her pain, understanding the agony she felt. Every breath she took was filled with guilt, and now he shared that guilt.
Suddenly, the scene twisted. The walls of the hospital stretched and changed, the lights flickering until they formed grotesque shapes above him. The doctor's voice grew louder, thundering in his ears. He looked at his hands—they were hers again, trembling and pale, stained with her blood.
He tried to escape, but the room wrapped around him like a snake, tightening its grip. The bed disappeared, the walls melted away, and now he was in a different place.
He was in her home. Alvaris stood in a dimly lit bedroom. The same woman—older now—was looking down at a crib, afraid to touch the sleeping child inside. He could feel the weight of ten years of guilt crushing her.
Suddenly, the crib morphed into a dark, bottomless pit. The walls twisted higher, and shadows crept toward him. His heart raced as the woman's guilt seemed to turn her memories into something monstrous. The shadows whispered and reminded her of the child she lost and the choice she made. Alvaris felt himself being pulled toward the pit, closer to the overwhelming sadness.
"I didn't want to!" she cried out, her voice breaking. "I had no choice!" Those words came out of his mouth, even though they were hers. Alvaris clutched his head, trying to fight back, but her guilt took over, blending with his emotions. He stumbled backward, but there was no escape. The memories were collapsing around him.
The woman's pain surged, becoming something that clawed at his very being. He felt her self-loathing and the years of silently hating herself while trying to support her family. The child's innocent face burned in his mind, and a voice inside whispered: You don't deserve him. You took away his sibling. You're unworthy of love.
The pit gaped wider, and Alvaris was right at the edge, looking down. Dark tendrils reached up, wrapping around his legs and pulling him down. He gasped, trying to break free, but the more he struggled, the tighter it held him.
The woman's guilt was dragging him under. In desperation, he tried to hold onto himself. This isn't me! This isn't my guilt! But the lines between their feelings had blurred—her guilt had become his.
He cried out, but his voice was lost. Then, a cold wind from outside rushed in, cutting through the darkness. The room flickered, and the shadows shuddered as if disturbed. Alvaris felt her guilt loosening its grip, just enough for him to stagger back from the edge of the pit.
He gasped for air, feeling some weight lift, though it was still there. The memories—the guilt—settled deep within him, now a permanent part of who he was. He could feel it, a dull ache in the back of his mind, reminding him of the life he took and the emotions he carried.
Alvaris stood up, shaking as if he had fought the memory itself. The hunger was gone for now, but the woman's guilt remained, a constant voice in his head. He looked at his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists. They were his hands again, but the memories weren't gone. They never would be. He could still hear her voice echoing in his mind: You're unworthy. You're a monster.
He had to live with that forever.
The wind picked up again, biting at his skin. Alvaris felt the cold seep into him, but it was nothing compared to the chill inside. As he stood over the woman's body, he watched it crumble into dust, scattered by the wind as though she had never existed. He understood now what the curse meant—not just the hunger, but the burden of the emotions and memories he would carry with every life he consumed. It was more than an urge; it was a prison.
His fists clenched tighter, determination shining in his eyes. He had to learn to control it. If he couldn't stop the hunger, he'd at least try to minimize the damage. Take as few lives as possible.
But the guilt—the weight of their lives—would never leave him. As he walked into the dark wilderness, the woman's guilt gnawed at his mind, a constant reminder of the cost of immortality. He carried her pain with him, and with each life he took, the burden would grow.
How long could he handle it before it broke him? He didn't know. But for now, he had no choice. He had to keep moving.