It's Sunday morning and she stands in a room with three thousand other people, all there for the same reason; it's Easter Sunday today.

With nervous tension, she adjusts the opal cross hanging on a thin gold chain around her neck and briefly contemplates the irony of the situation.

She has always felt a sort of comfort being in church. The "Place of God" has given her a sense of security that she is under the protection of something greater than herself, greater than all of humanity. She finds it soothing to believe in a Creator of the universe, one who knows everything and is the embodiment of love.

That comfort has begun to feel only slightly judging recently. Lately she has been asking God why he created her the way he did. She wonders why she believes in a religion that damns her to Hell, and still prays to its God. She then reminds herself that she believes God created the universe and all things in it, therefore if what she believes in is true and Jesus died to save all of creation, then it is not outside God's power to save her, even being what she is. In her mind, it doesn't matter what the people say about how her kind are soulless and deserve eternity in Hell. They don't know what they're talking about and she doesn't care what they say, all that matters is God not going back on his promise of unconditional love.

The first radical change in her life came about three months ago. It feels much longer ago than that. When he revealed his secret to her, she was shocked and terrified, but she never doubted. That has always made her concerned. It was so outrageous, she should have questioned its validity, but she didn't. She just went to sleep that night wondering how she had fallen into the situation and asking God why it was happening.

A month later, after he had theories about what she might possibly be, other than human, she stood in front of him in a darkened room and then when she turned the light back on, he told her that he had good and bad news for her. The two were exactly the same three word sentence: "You're like me." She never doubted that either. Again, it was outrageous, and again, she should have questioned, but she didn't. She just quietly internalized the information and tried to reconcile the argument within herself about what exactly she was. He said he never believed that she had to remain just human; he had plans for her, if she accepted them, but it turned out that she saved him the trouble.

She thinks about all of this as she stands in that room, with three thousand other people, feeling their energy surrounding her, yet trying to leave that conflicting part of her existence behind her.

"Savior, he can move the mountains, my God is mighty to save, he is mighty to saveā€¦" she sings the words with passion, knowing that she hangs her entire existence and the eternal fate of her soul on the assumption that these words are true, and no one is outside of God's power to save. In a way, it is her prayer. She sings, hoping it is the truth, wanting back the certainty she once knew of God's love.

She prays for her soul and his as she sings, thinking of the irony of a vampire standing in church on Easter Sunday, cross around her neck, hands and voice raised in praise of the Christian God.