In the peculiar world of the repentant vampires of the church, daily life was an exercise in contradiction and comic restraint.

“Good Morning, child of God,” one of them often greeted him.

From dawn till dusk, sometimes till dawn again, these vampires swathed themselves in full-body robes, the women’s eyes hidden behind black mesh and the men’s faces veiled as if they were plotting a bank heist rather than attending morning prayers.

The reason, ostensibly, was to avoid the deadly kiss of sunlight, though Burn couldn't help but suspect it also spared them the indignity of sunscreen.

“My, there’s a human guest? Is the youngsters okay interacting closely with a human…?” some old ones meekly muttered in worry.

“It’s okay, we’ll hunt more monster today to satiate the cravings.”

These vampires had turned their backs on human blood and meat, adopting a diet that would make any vegan proud—if, that is, vegans feasted on animal blood instead of tofu.

They meticulously drained their nocturnal catches, treating the whole process with the solemnity of a tea ceremony, albeit one where the tea screams and tries to run away.

Observing this, Burn wondered if there was a Michelin star category for morally conflicted butchers.

“Let’s clean the hall after prayer.”

“Careful not to create any symbol on the ground with stains or dust when cleaning. It’s dangerous.”

Inside their sanctuary, devoid of any traditional religious symbols—because apparently, for them, proximity to such items could lead to spontaneous combustion—the vampires gathered to worship.

This was no ordinary church. Here, prayer was more about not turning into a barbecue than about spiritual enlightenment.

“Okay, no gesture for prayers too. I know how much you want to embody your belief, but let’s keep it in our heart.”

Burn mused whether their prayers were more pleas for forgiveness or just requests to not catch fire mid-sermon.

Their decision to forsake human blood for animal was lauded as a significant ethical step, akin to swapping out a gas-guzzler for a hybrid—only much messier.

As night fell and they ventured out in groups, the hunting party looked less like a congregation and more like a flash mob about to break into a choreographed routine.

“We can go farther today, right?”

“There’s monsters a bit to the north!”

Burn, witnessing all this, couldn't decide if he was watching a profound transformation or just a particularly bizarre episode of lifestyle documentary for the undead.

Either way, he kept his snark to himself, half-expecting a vampire to turn to him and ask if he'd prefer his animal blood shaken or stirred. While smiling.

In their unorthodox spiritual enclave, dietary restrictions extended beyond just a preference for the animalistic over the anthropomorphic.

“N… no. No pork. Yes, no boar, or orcs… sorry. You can eat that yourself, of course! Don’t waste food!”

Pork, for instance, was off the menu—not due to any religious taboo, but because, as the vampires solemnly declared, it tasted eerily reminiscent of humans.

Burn found this dietary quirk both horrifying and hilarious, wondering if there was a vampire version of a plant-based diet where 'plant-based' was a euphemism for 'not-taste-like-a-person'.

Fasting became their new pastime, a way to stave off the more carnivorous cravings.

This wasn't your grandma's idea of fasting—no mere abstention from snacks between meals—but a full-on denial of their deepest, darkest desires.

It was like watching someone try to diet at a buffet; noble but ultimately futile.

“There’s a human guest… fasting become so much more difficult…”

Burn, observing these efforts, speculated whether their next step would be joining Vampires Anonymous: "Hi, my name is Vlad, and it's been forty days since my last human."

Alcohol was another no-no; not because it was beneath them, but rather disappointingly, because it had no effect.

It turns out that being undead seriously undermines your ability to catch a buzz.

This led them to abandon spirits for spiritlessness, although Burn noted that their avoidance of wine didn't stop them from lamenting over blood as if discussing a fine Merlot.

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“I’m sorry. Do you like alcohol? Seasoning? Oh… garlic? Sorry, that’s also…”

“We don’t have that here… We have plain bread, as much as you like?”

Garlic, naturally, was the culinary boogeyman. Not for any mystical reason, but simply because it stunk. This aversion gave Burn endless amusement; he mused that a vampire’s version of hell was probably a garlic farm.

Pets? Dogs were out of the question—too much historical baggage since their werewolf cousins had once served as vampire underlings.

Instead, they opted for cats, those paragons of indifference, to teach them the fine art of restraint and the cold shoulder. Watching a vampire attempt to win over a cat was like observing a stand-off between two masters of disdain.

Burn’s days among the vampires were filled with these absurdities, each more bizarre than the last.

He often caught himself chuckling under his breath, not sure if he was in a horror story or a dark comedy.

As he scribbled notes for future reference, he wondered how one might explain these undead eccentrics to someone who had never seen a vampire trying to pet a cat, or fasting to avoid turning into a monster—literally.

It was clear, whether through divine comedy or diabolic irony, these vampires were trying to find their path to redemption, one awkward, animal-blood-laden step at a time.

“So? You have talked to each of our members? Have you found what you seek?”

In the serene courtyard of the church, where the sound of laughter flitted through the air like confetti, Father Vlad, sat perched on a weathered stone bench.

His lap served as a throne for the black cat that had first heralded Burn’s secretive arrival, now purring contentedly as if it were the keeper of all church secrets.

Around them, children vampires frolicked in a blur of black robes and veils, their games a macabre twist on typical childhood play, resembling a gathering of tiny grim reapers more than anything else.

Beside Vlad, Burn sat with a demeanor that hovered between intrigue and irritation.

Burn shifted slightly, the stone beneath him doing little for comfort. “Not even a whisper about the Infinite Witch. Are you even a member of society? How could you not know about her?”

Vlad chuckled, a sound that stirred the leaves at their feet. “Like I said, most of us only knew the generation of your parents… or grandparents… or, great grandparents? What year is it…?”

Burn couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Here he was, sitting next to a vampire who thought eternal damnation could be a punchline, in a church that seemed to double as a gothic daycare, searching for a witch that no one seemed to know.

“Maybe… we know her, but not with the name you proposed,” Vlad mused, stroking the cat, which seemed to smirk at Burn’s frustration.

“Or maybe everyone’s just playing dumb,” Burn retorted, his voice tinged with the weariness of a man who had been through too many crypts.

The conversation hung between them, a taut thread ready to snap, as the children's shrieks of joy provided a stark, eerie contrast to their somber discussion.

“Why are you looking for this girl anyway, boy? Planning to marry her when you grow up? How sweet…"

Burn clenched his fists, feeling his blood pressure surge—a common side effect of conversing with this particular vampire. "She cursed me," he managed to say through gritted teeth. "And I intend to make her lift it, by force if needed."

"Oh dear… a curse? Why are youngsters these days so dramatic about romance?" the old man murmured, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in dismay.

“I really am about to speak informally to you,” Burn spoke in between his gritted teeth.

"Have you told us what she looks like?"

"I've already told you! You senile old man!"

"Oh… How does she look again…?"

"This is the fifth time I've told you!"

"Yeah, just help this old man out, boy."

"You don't really intend to help me, do you?"

Silence.

Burn silently groaned, and finally told him how Morgan Le Fay in his memory looked like once again.

“She was breathtakingly beautiful, as if the sun itself had chosen to dim its light to let her brilliance shine more freely,” Burn began.

"We're talking about a woman who could make the sun seem timid," Burn shrugged. "That even the brightest celestial body in our sky might feel, you know, bashful, kinda."

Her image started to dance in his mind, “Her hair fell in golden waves, each strand shimmering with the hues of dawn, defying the ordinary with… some sort of silent elegance.”

“Her eyes, are so, so blue. She smiled and it was a gateway to cosmic mischief, literally.”

Burn massaged his temples. “I thought I was dreaming when she stood in front of me.”

“The boundaries of reality seemed to blur and expand, not merely because of her apparent ethereal appearance, but because well, I don’t know.”

Burn, in his earnest admiration, saw her not just as a figure of beauty but as a beacon of intrigue and allure, a person whose laughter could turn tides and whose presence made the ordinary extraordinary.

However, it seemed that his attempt to genuinely describe what he felt about her appearance, although clumsy—not just a mere description like he had given at his court a few loops ago—left the old man...

Well, the old man beside him appeared struck speechless. Even through his head coverings, Burn could sense the man's jaw drop, his mouth hanging open in astonishment.

“A-are you a child?” Vlad asked, genuinely thinking Burn was a child and now surprised because of the ‘child’’s insight.

“I’m an adult!” Burn snapped.

“How old are you again?”

“I’m 27.”

“You’re a baby. A genius baby. Dear god.”

“This old—”

"Well, if you describe her like that, I might know who you're talking about," the old man said, effectively halting Burn's outburst.

Burn widened his eyes, “You know?”

CRASH!

“GET OUT, DEMON WORSHIPERS!”

“THIS CHURCH IS A SCAM!”

While Burn and Vlad were chillin' in the courtyard of this quaint rural church, minding their own business, out of nowhere, a whole swarm of folks started gathering like it's about the hottest shit in town.

Burn sighed, “Seriously, again? Right when I am about to find out something important?”

“GO AWAY!”

“WE’RE GOING TO BURN THIS PLACE DOWN!”

It seemed that it was going to get hotter any minute now. Like seriously.

But wait, there's more!

DRAP-DRAP-DRAP!

Suddenly, out rode this squad of knights on their high horses, gleaming armor and all kinds of flags. Like, talk about making an entrance. And in the lead?

Burn massaged his temples. He turned toward Vlad, expression hidden beneath the veil, “What’s wrong with this place? Look, they brought out a big guy here.”

Mr. Shiny Armor himself, looking like he just walked out of a medieval fashion show. Couldn't miss him even if you wanted to.

“He’s definitely a royalty,” Burn rested his face on his arm, leaning forward nonchalantly. “Can you fix it with your mind control again?”

Definitely couldn’t. This big guy was a force user. Quite a good one too.

Burn was right. What was the deal with this place? Were they about to witness a vampire hunt right in the churchyard? Or something else…