A Ritual of Blood

Item Designation: SCP-ARBR

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Foundation webcrawlers are monitoring emergency lines, online forums related to religious disillusion, and internal hospital communications for keywords associated with SCP-ARBR events.

Surviving SCP-ARBR-1 instances are to be transferred to Site-34 under the pretense of indefinite psychiatric detention.

Description: SCP-ARBR is an anomalous phenomena in which random individuals will develop the desire to drink their own blood. SCP-ARBR-1 instances are not under the effect of any sort of compulsion, but have instead had their Gustatory cortex altered to find the taste of their own blood extremely pleasurable1, and appear to become immediately aware of this fact. Attempts to change their beliefs have failed, and the effect appears to be permanent.

SCP-ARBR-1 instances will typically seek out other instances forming communities varying from a few dozen to eight hundred, the largest recorded. Instances will go about their daily lives, but gather one day on the weekend2 for a ritual.

One instance will open a wound on their body with a sharp implement, collecting their blood in a pitcher. Other instances may also assist with filling the pitcher, or the instance may willingly bleed until the point of death by exsanguination. The blood is then poured out to all instances present to be consumed, typically with a small amount of freshly baked bread.

As of 03/11/2020, all observed SCP-ARBR-1 have professed to hold deeply religious beliefs. Instances will usually abandon their beliefs upon conversion, although some have been noticed as incorporating elements of their faith into the ritual. For example, one sect comprised of Apollo adherents mixed their blood with a handful of crushed cicada shells.

Interviewed: SCP-ARBR-1-23 (Rachel Saliba)

Interviewer: Dr Hartle

Foreword: SCP-ARBR-1-23 had been reported to authorities in the city of Jerusalem by her family, after she was witnessed drinking her own blood.

<Begin Log>

Hartle: Good evening, Priestess. I hope I'm not interrupting your dinner?

Saliba: No, of course not. And I'm not a priestess anymore. Can I offer you a glass?

Saliba gestures to the pitcher of her blood.

Hartle: Er, no, I'm good. I did want to talk to you about that, though, if you have a minute.

Saliba: As long as you're not trying to convince me I'm a monster, go ahead

Hartle: Thank you. I just wanted to ask you about how, uh, your blood tastes. What about it appeals to you?

Saliba: It's the same reason I like honey or pizza or hot chocolate. Because it tastes delicious. It has a bit of sourness, true, but there's an underlying sweetness to it that really makes it worthwhile.

Hartle: You say it like it tastes like wine.

Saliba: Laughs Life experience, perhaps. Growing up in an Asherah3 household, I've been drinking it since I was thirteen. Do you drink?

Hartle: As I get older, not as much. You say you were raised in an Asherah household? Why'd you turn away from her?

Saliba pauses, placing down her fork.

Saliba: Already here, are we?

Hartle: It's an interview, not a friendly visit. So what happened? What made you believe drinking blood was more important than serving as an, uh, adherent of Asherah?

Saliba: Prostitute, I think you meant to say. Don't worry, I'm not offended. And it wasn't that, it was more of a revelation, rather than whatever you're implying.

Hartle: Enlighten me, then.

Saliba looks towards the ceiling for a moment.

Saliba: I'm not sure I can fully explain it myself. Something in me just changed. I felt… different. Like I had risen that morning as a new person. I looked at the fire temple on my street, and felt disgust. I mean, look at all the shit happening today. Where's Asherah or Gad or Sydyk in all this? Where are any of my gods? I came to a realization. If they were real, they didn't care about me. So they weren't worthy of my attention. None of them were.

Hartle: Religious disillusionment, then?

Saliba: Something like that. But whenever I drink this…

Saliba takes a drink of her blood.

Saliba: I feel safe, like when my parents took me to the temple on my eighteenth birthday. It makes me feel like someone's watching over us all.

Hartle: Who, then? If you don't believe in any of the pantheons…

Saliba: I'm not sure. Perhaps we'll never know. The taste of my blood is enough faith for me.

<End Log>

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