Neovvian
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Dusty marble walls surround him on all sides. The once-white material that has since faded into a dull creamy shade now holds crimson discoloring, that of the blood of the humans he loathed oh so much but still never meant to kill. Faded stained glass windows reflect the stories of years past, and the sins he committed, the crimes that display his true nature; that which he is but never wished to be.
The cross mocks him. It hangs over his head, highlighting his shame. He feels sick.