As the rain pours, Winifred clings to her dead children.
Delirium morphs her neighbors’ wails into her own skin pustules’ screams for God’s mercy.
This is no plague; it’s hell.
Lightning reveals a beautiful lady in silk standing over her.
“My angel?” croaks Winifred.
She strokes the dying woman’s cheek as her canines extend.
Jenny hums a lullaby as her teeth sink into Winifred.
Something in the bite turns all the agony into bliss.
“Thank you,” whispers Winifred to her angel of mercy.