House of Hunger

by Alexis Henderson

I’d rather bleed to sate the appetite of a night lord than bleed on the birthing bed, bearing the children of a man I hardly love.”

“Maybe. But bleeding here is better than dying in the slums.” “How could you possibly know that when you’ve never died before?” Cecelia asked, and Marion wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a slight or an insult. “One doesn’t have to die to know that the experience is less than ideal.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’ve been building you a House out of my own bones. And still, you look at me with so much contempt and mistrust. You complain because there are gaps in the roof of my ribs, and you ask me to give more of myself to fill them. You want my hips to be the bowl you drink from. My shoulders, your bed. My arms, your walls. My legs, the very ground you stand on. You want your fill of my blood whenever you crave it. What more do you want from me?”