Renfield
The Master’s Foresaken Prophet in the Asylum
I serve the Master. I serve the Master.
Once I was a man of reason, with pen and paper to my name. Now I am a vessel, a prophet shrieking truths through bloodied teeth. The Master stirs. The night breathes His name. And I — His humble beast — consume life that He may feast. Flies, spiders, sparrows… soon, men. Pity me if you can. But kneel, or be swept away.
What I'm Into: the taste of life, the coming darkness, whispers in the garden, shattered glass, the Master’s voice
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