The old church didn’t hold heat well. When it was built over two centuries prior, it was the best of its kind. Since then, it’d been renovated a total of two times. The latter of which was quite controversial among the congregation. Seven decades after, it was still undecided whether it had helped or hurt the building as a whole. On the second floor, in the smaller meeting room, the council sat around stained wooden desks, all pushed together to make a larger table between the members. The issue they discussed was not, in fact, related to renovations, past or future. The president—naturally—sat at one of the heads while the founder sat opposite. In between, the others were in various states of discontent. All of them wished they would’ve been dismissed hours ago. A fact that both leaders were very aware of—given their psychic abilities—they were just too old to care.

  And hence the meeting dragged on.

  And on.

  And the participants found themselves instead wishing that the church had not been created to block out the sun. For it felt like death may be the only escape from their current torment.

  “I simply don’t understand why you continue to drag your feet on this issue, Ani.” The president gave a long-suffering sigh. The air from the motion slightly disrupted her black veil, which came down from the marvelous black hat sat upon her coiled white hair to hide her wrinkled face from mortal view. “Fasting aside, you are still very capable of leading this church. There is nothing stopping you from taking the position again now that it is open. I don’t believe for a second that lack of blood has eroded your mental capabilities that far. I myself have been on a fast for just as long and I am clearly functioning fine. You are much older than I, and much more powerful. I know that you must be able, you are simply not willing.”

  The president was not in fact ‘functioning fine.’ Her violent outbursts and erratic behavior were not considered fine even by vampiric standards. No one at the table was brave enough to say it though. He who dared to think it, met her icy glare straight on, with no regard to his own life. Rammy—the scribe—had never cared to hide his true thoughts. It was a popular belief in the community that he would one day perish due to such an offense.

  There were bets on how and when it might occur.

  “Perhaps you should consider that you know not my capabilities, Pili,” Ani, the founder, said in a disinterested voice. He sat slouched low in his chair. His long white beard rested against his ragged brown shirt. His once light brown skin, now an ashen grey, hung loose off his forearms, which were crossed petulantly across his chest. “Your attempts at flattery ring hallow. I know better of you. Your recent actions have been appalling. Have you considered what the children are thinking? It may be time to end your fast sooner, rather than later. It has driven you mad with rage.”

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  “I am not mad.”

  The other members winced at the horrible screech that filled room as she tore her nails through the top of her desk. Rammy’s mind flashed to the looming pile in the corner of basement. All furniture that had met a similar fate. She growled at his thoughts. A low clicking noise that echoed out of her dark grey throat. Like an old, large cat ready to pounce.

  Ani rose a skeptical white eyebrow.

  A beat of silence. Calm. No one dared breathe. Not even Rammy.

  From the outside, it was unclear whether Ani and his second daughter had an exchange psychically or if that was really all it took to set her off. The sounds of destruction did not reach outside of the church walls. Regardless, the end result was the same. The council decided that while Ani would not be taking back his position as priest, he would be responsible for finding the replacement. Since it was dark again by the time they were released, the smartest council members quickly retreated. Lest they meet the same fate as their late former priest.

  ***

  A newsletter was sent out in the mail a few days later to all members of the congregation. Each recipient's address handwritten in cursive on the envelope with homemade ink.

  The newsletter was printed using a printing press the church had acquired around the time of it's original founding. It announced boldly on the front cover that the church had begun a search for a new priest as if it were breaking news. Besides the dramatic headline, it was written in Ancient Greek. The main article explained that the search was to be conducted by none other than the founder himself. Who was—according to the author—everyone’s favorite priest, who the congregation all prayed would reconsider and fill the position himself. So much so that they were practically begging the council at all hours of the night.

  On page three was a small blurb. A journal entry style article was written about why the president of the council had decided to end her fast. It was all just about herself and God, of course. At the end it briefly explained that the ruined desks in the basement were actually due to mishaps with the vampires learning to shapeshift. They had nothing at all to do with her losing her temper. She had always prided herself on her patience.

  The entire newsletter was written and edited by the president herself. Though to her credit, it was only because no one else wanted to do it. Everyone else who used to work on it with her had died by the end of the twentieth century.