Godfrey was huddled in the basement of Nathan's apartment, shivering, wondering if the others had left him alone for what he had done.
Rosalie was gone, he hadn't seen Nathan for weeks, and there was no news of his fellow warriors in the Order. While he felt that a dementor had kissed him on the forehead, he crawled on the floor and went to the refrigerator and took a bottle of blood from it and tried to drink its contents, but his stomach rejected it.
He put the bottle in its place and crawled into a corner and laid down and threw the quilt over himself and started talking to Nathan in his mind:
"Darling, lying under this heavy quilt feels so cozy, I must say it's almost like you're in my bed holding me in your warm arms.
Except the warmth and softness of the blanket or your hug, what can remove the anxiety and chaos of my soul? Nathan, tell me, does this quilt harbor an evil spirit? That angry look that I saw in Rosalie's eyes and that cold look that I saw in your eyes, were they seals of approval on my wickedness?"
At this moment, a voice in his mind answered:
"It's not what you did, it's your intention. You didn't kill your daughter to protect others. You destroyed her because you feared her."
Godfrey remembered his child's sharp teeth hidden behind her small lips, and the evil that laid behind her innocent face, as well as her eagerness to sink her tiny sharp teeth into his throat.
"Father, let me drink your blood and get satisfied."
He pulled the quilt over his head, as if he could get the image of his daughter out of his mind this way.
"Let your blood flow through my body and we become one more than before. Let your life be mine."
Godfrey shook his head.
"No, these are fantasies. She did not tell me these words."
His daughter disappeared in his mind and Rosalie took her place.
"I saved your life twice. But now I want you to offer your life to our daughter."
He pushed aside the quilt and got up and went back to the fridge and took out the blood bottle.
"I'm hallucinating from lack of blood."
He drank the contents of the bottle at once and tried to resist the urge of his stomach to reject it, but he couldn't and all the blood he had drunk came up from his throat and spilled out of his mouth and flooded the basement floor.
He sat on his knees and bent down and looked at the reflection of his face in that lake of blood.
"Neither an innocent angel nor an evil monster, but an imperfect being between the two."
