EXTRACT FOR
Caitlin
(Author Unknown)
Chapter One
A lone drop of water fell from somewhere above. It splattered against his forehead and ran down over the bridge of his nose, finally pooling under the tip. Letting his head fall forward, he shook the drop free. A spasm of pain arced up his neck from the deep wounds on both sides. He wondered how much blood he had lost. His thoughts were beginning to lose coherence as his mind became increasingly muddy. His body was bruised and broken. He tried to take a deep breath but stopped. It was too painful. He felt a cough welling up in his throat but did his best to stifle it.
Pressing his eyelids tightly together, he tried to relax his eyes. He could feel a bruise high on his right cheek with a small laceration running through it. His arms had gradually become numb from inactivity. They were chained to the wall above his head, his wrists bound together by two iron cuffs. A long, taut chain connected them high on the wall. He couldn't remember how long he had been a prisoner here as the days and nights bled into each other in this dark place. He slowly opened his eyes. There was a thin strip of light bleeding from under a far door, barely enough to illuminate the room.
Through the haze behind his eyes, he could vaguely remember being brought here and why. It had been his fault. As a flash of fear gripped him, he remembered his companion. Was she alive? Holding his breath for a moment, he listened for any sounds of life. The silence became deafening. Only the slight creak of his restraining chains filled his ears. His head fell forward in defeat. She was dead and he was next, but the point was moot. Without her, he was already dead.
He needed to relax for a moment, but his predicament made that almost impossible. He was standing flat-footed on the floor with his arms raised straight above. Little leeway was allowed in this position. Shuffling his feet back against the wall, he pushed up onto the balls of his feet until he was standing on the tips of his toes. He let out a long sigh as the pressure was taken off his wrists. He could feel how raw they were. Even the slightest movement of the restraints stung the wounds.
Cane was completely naked. His captors had taken joy in ripping his clothes from his body and exposing his pale flesh. They had taken care of some of the wounds on his body, especially those on his chest and upper thighs. Cotton bandages were being held in place by generous amounts of tape. He found it odd they would even attempt to take care of him. They were keeping him alive just to watch him die.
A cough shattered the silence followed by the rattle of chains and a soft moan in the darkness. Zachary Cane perked up his ears as a look of hopefulness crossed his face. "Lydia?"
There was another cough, but no reply.
"Lydia, are you okay?" Cane asked again. His voice sounded strange in his own ears. It was slightly younger, and his British accent was a bit thicker. He cleared his throat. Maybe he was going mad??"the combination of constant darkness, pain, and blood loss had a way of doing that to a person??"but something about this entire situation wasn't right....
"No," came Lydia's voice. It was weak and engorged with pain. "I'm dying. How do you think I feel?" A cough interrupted her anger. It gurgled from deep within her lungs, bringing blood with it. She could taste on her lips. Leaning her head back slowly, she found it increasingly difficult to catch her breath. Her lungs were filling with fluid. She was slowly drowning.
Lydia Katran wasn't pinned to the wall as Cane was, instead, her captors had chained her feet and hands to the floor. She was stuck with her legs crossed behind her and her palms flat on the floor in front of her. Her back ached, but there was no way for her to sit up or lie down. As with Cane, she was completely naked except for a scrap of her shirt that hung from her collar. Her long brown hair, matted with blood and dirt, hung over her face in a mess. The smell of blood was beginning to make her nauseous, but that was the least of her problems. "They'll come for us," she said after a moment.
Cane furrowed his brow. "Lydia," he said cautiously, "I don't think anyone's going to bloody find us here. We really screwed up this time," he said more to himself than her.
Lydia threw her head back trying to get the hair out of her face. "Have faith in the God and Goddess," she rasped. "They will find a way to free us. My coven knows we came here."
Cane remained quiet for a long time. Lydia knew he didn't believe in any kind of God, or Goddess for that matter, and that he only tolerated her Wiccan beliefs. It was strange. He was an avid believer in the supernatural, magick included, but he refused to believe a higher power could exist. She forced a smile. Cane was a riddle, wrapped in an enigma and tucked nicely in a basket of fish and chips.
"I don't think even your mates could bust us out of 'ere," Cane said finally.
"You have to have faith," Lydia's voice was filled with wheezes and pops, but she still managed to bring a small amount of comfort to Cane. "I may still be a new initiate, but I have felt their power. We will be rescued soon."
Cane ran his tongue over his dry, cracked lips. It had been some time since any liquid had touched them. If there were to be a rescue, surely it would have happened by now. He didn't want to voice his doubts to Lydia, but he had the nagging feeling an attempt had already been made, and their captors had wiped out the coven. It was just a feeling. He hoped to Hell he was wrong. Taking a deep breath, he felt a twinge of pain run up his side. Cane gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to cry out. After a moment, the pain began to subside, returning the familiar numbness. As he relaxed his jaw, he scanned the room with his eyes. He was barely able to make out a few dim shapes in the room, but it wasn't enough to allay his worries. As his eyes stopped on the small sliver of light at the base of the door, his heart begin to race. A pair of shadows passed through the light. Someone, or something was there, just outside...waiting.
He perked his ears at the slight sound of the door handle being grasped. Pushing up as high as he could on his toes, he leaned his body forward and pulled on the chains. Every muscle in his upper body strained against the iron shackles. He heard them creak and groan in protest, but it wasn't enough to break free. There was nowhere for him to go, no way he could get to Lydia.
He listened to the door mechanism click. A burst of light blinded him temporarily as the door was thrown open. Turning his head away, he continued to listen. There was nothing. No footfalls and no whispered voices. Not even the sound of moving fabric could be heard. The sharp scent of a woman's cologne suddenly stung his nostrils. Opening his eyes slowly, he faced front with hesitation. He could make out a woman's form, her face shadowed by the backlight. It looked as if a glowing yellow aura surrounded her entire body, but Cane knew it was just the light spilling in from the hallway just beyond the open door.
"How's my pet feeling this morning?" a soft voice asked.
Cane ignored her, but kept his vision trained on her.
The woman leaned close, pressing her hand gently against his chest. She moved her fingernails softly through his chest hair. "I see someone's grumpy today," she said. Cane wasn't quite sure, but he could make out the slightest Gaelic accent in her voice. It was barely perceptible.
She glanced over her shoulder and nodded. The room was instantly filled with a hard, white light. Cane clamped his eyelids shut as he turned his head away. He had been in the dark so long, the light hurt him. Opening his watering eyes again, he blinked rapidly as he tried to adjust. Slowly, everything in the room came into focus. They were in a wine cellar. Tall shelves lined the far walls filled with bottles of numerous label and vintage. The floor was covered with deep, red tile, but he could still make out several bloodstains below himself and Lydia. The room was much smaller than he had estimated, measuring probably ninety to one hundred square feet.
Looking up, Cane could see two men standing on either side of the open door. They were dressed casually, but impeccably. Both were clean-shaven and appeared to be of Caucasian and Hispanic??"respectively??"descent, but seemed extraordinarily pale in the light. Their eyes had a slight yellow tint to them.
Cane returned his attention to the woman in front of him. She was beautiful. Long, wavy, red hair hung down around her face, terminating just below her shoulders. Her eyes were lush and as green as sea foam. They almost appeared white as the light danced off them. There was nary a blemish or scar visible anywhere on her face. Her alabaster skin was flawless, appearing very much like porcelain. The blood red lipstick she was wearing on her full lips and dark eye shadow complimented her perfectly.
Her body, wrapped in a tight black dress that ended just above her knees, was equally impressive. She could easily have passed as a model or movie star. Her breasts appeared firm and full, but weren't overly large. She was definitely fit and trim, and Cane would describe her body type as "athletic". The beautiful curves of her hips gave way to long, slender legs. He glanced down at her hand, which was still firmly against his chest. They were immaculate to the very tips of the sharp nails painted almost the same color as her lips. A pair of black heels and a long, dark brown leather jacket completed the package.
She pulled the corners of her mouth up into a seductive smile, barely exposing her flawless white teeth. "I'm going to give you a choice tonight," she breathed. She leaned close to his ear. "Do you want to die first, or second?"
Cane remained silent.
She ran her hand up his chest to his throat and stopped. Curling her fingers over, she sunk the tips of her fingernails viciously into his flesh. Cane gasped, but remained resolute. "Let me ask you again, pet. Do you want to watch us abuse the witch, or would you rather go first?" She dug her nails a bit deeper producing a bead of blood.
"Why don't you sod off?" Cane growled through gritted teeth.
The woman smiled. "Fine. The witch is first." She lifted her free hand and snapped her fingers. Her two men moved quickly toward Lydia. Dropping to their knees on either side of her, they held still for a moment just watching her. Then, with movements so fast it was hard for Cane to track, they were on her. Lydia screamed in pain and terror as the first man grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. The second man straddled her crossed legs, pressing his cupped hands against her breasts. The two men paused and looked back at the woman. A smile crossed their faces as she nodded.
Tossing his head back, the second man opened his mouth wide. Cane watched in horror as the man's canine teeth grew into fangs. Snapping around, the second man bent down and ran his tongue over Lydia's right breast and nipple. Lydia struggled vainly to get away but the men easily overpowered her. The second man turned his head back slightly to watch Cane's reaction. His eyes were changing into a deep, mustard yellow as an evil smile grew on his lips. Grabbing her breast again with his pale hand, he exposed his fangs and bit into her flesh. She screamed in pain, but it quickly died in her throat as the first man bit into her neck. Lydia's head fell back as a moan escaped her lips as the two men worked over her.
Cane turned away from the sight. Anger burned in his eyes as he stared at his captor. "Vampire," he hissed.
The woman laughed. "Human," she said mockingly. She slowly pushed herself against Cane's naked body, grinding her hips slowly between his legs. "You know," she smiled, exposing her own fangs, "even though you die when we feed, most victims find it quite," she paused for effect, "pleasurable. Look at your woman. She's loving every minute of it," she whispered. "If she could move her legs, she would probably spread them wide for??""
"You bitch!" Cane yelled as he lashed forward, barely missing the woman's face. She was too fast for him. He struggled angrily against his restraints.
The woman pressed her finger against Cane's lips. "That wasn't very gentlemanly. You should save the dirty talk for when we're alone," she laughed. She pulled slightly away from Cane. He watched as her eyes dissolved to yellow and her iris and pupil quickly vanished. "It's your turn, love. Try to relax."
Lunging forward, she pressed her mouth to Cane's neck, just below his jaw. She drug the tips of her razor sharp fangs over his skin, then with one push, bit down. He felt both pop through his flesh. Pain radiated out in every direction as she removed her fangs from the holes she had just created. She worked the tip of her tongue around what felt to Cane like gaping craters. Quickly, the pain subsided as a wave of pleasure began to wash over him. The woman pressed herself firmly against him as she moved her hands up his body. Cain's eyes rolled back in his head and the light around him began to fade, but he didn't care. If he could move his arms, he would return the embrace. The analytical portion of his brain realized her bite had triggered a kind of euphoria in his brain, but he didn't care. He hoped she would never stop touching him.... He felt his life begin to slip away.
* * *
Cane sat straight up in bed. His heart pounding, he immediately moved his hand to his neck and let out a long sigh of relief. Propping himself up on his hands, he took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Glancing to his right, he saw the familiar red glow of his alarm clock. It was a little after three in the morning. His entire apartment was still dark. He looked down at his bed. His sheets and comforter were in a state of disarray. It was a dream, he reassured himself, but he knew the awful truth. He reached for the glass of water he kept next to his bed. Lifting it to his lips, he took a long drink of the clear, cool liquid, then deposited it back onto the nightstand.
Lying back down in bed, he pulled the covers up to his stomach. He briefly wondered how Lydia was. Now that they were back on speaking terms, they had been talking much more often. He would have to call her first thing in the morning. Cane ran his hand through his graying hair as he closed his eyes. He needed to get some sleep. He couldn't waste any more time dwelling in the past, awake or asleep.
* * *
A wave of dark clouds rolled in overhead muting out the sunlight. They were heavy, ready at any moment to let loose their precious, watery cargo. Wind whipped through the bare branches of trees, lifting dead leaves from the ground and continuing on its way. Winter was nearing, but it hadn't yet slipped its icy fingers around the landscape. The numerous shades of green had gradually turned to the reds, golds and yellows of the season.
It was a time of death, but as everything eased into deep winter slumber, they knew they would experience rebirth. It was the great wheel, the cycle of life, ever turning...but then that was all new age garbage, wasn't it? Things die. It wasn't some grand plan, or another step in God's plan, it was just death. Everything on this planet was placed here with its clock already ticking. Humans are, in every sense, born to die. That is the way of life, and if anyone tells you differently, they are a fool.
They knew better. They had unlocked the great mystery of the universe in their few years: God does not exist. There is no plan for each of us, no spiritual will or fate keeping us on a predestined path. The only answer is to live now and enjoy what you can because there is nothing waiting for us at the end of our journeys. No pearly gates, no tunnel of light, only a wooden box buried six feet beneath the ground.
Black cloth billowed around them as they moved through the foggy streets of London. Some would call them outcasts, but they disagreed with the label. Religion, morality, these trappings did not touch them. They were animals, and this was the way they wanted it. They moved freely through 'the savage garden of life', to quote their favorite literary character, partaking in all the joys they could. Nothing was beyond their capabilities. They were free.
Side by side moved three women and two men, all clad in the color of night. They weaved in and out of the fog that hung on the old cobblestone streets. Each had taken their appearance to the extreme. Strands of red, green, purple, white and orange streaked through their hair while silver piercings dotted their faces. Their skin was pale, not having glimpsed the sunlight in some time, and their eyes, covered with contact lenses, were more intense shades of normal colors. These were so-called "Modern Vampires". Creatures of the night who were still very much alive, yet adhered to a vampire-like lifestyle almost as if it were a religion. Most would think of them as blood fetishes, or a cult of blood worshipers, but to them, this was not the case. This was as close to being a vampire as they could get, but that was all about to change.
For each, what drew them to the lifestyle was different. Perhaps it was a general affection for the night, the lure of possible immortality, or something much more personal. For others, it had become a much more sinister pursuit. A vampire's life meant the end of rules, the end of the laws of men. These "vampires" took the lifestyle to the extreme and some even killed. These were the outcasts of the modern Vampire society, and thankfully, rare.
Blood was the currency of their realm. For some, it had become secondary to the lifestyle, but it was still important to most. Since a majority of the Modern Vampires are still law-abiding citizens, they simply can't walk out onto the street, grab a victim and drink their blood. They have instead evolved unique ways to satisfy this lust. A pack of Modern Vampires generally has two to three "donors". These are people, who for some reason??"be it the pleasure they receive from being cut and having their blood drank, or the need to satisfy their own dark cravings??"allow the vampires to "feed" off them. And for most, a system of checks and balances are in place for donors and vampires so that no disease can be transmitted. Each vampire will take only a little and it's generally part of a sex act. They have no actual physical need for the life sustaining liquid, but some, much like a fetishist, receive a drug-like high from the experience, while others claim it keeps them young by slowing down the aging process. Whatever the ultimate reason, it was what defined who they were.
They were vampires in every sense of the word, except one: all were still very much alive. Tonight, however, that would all change. The coven had a plan that would take them to the other side. Another coven in the area had discovered something...incredible. If it were true, it would mean the fulfillment of their dark fruitions. The plans had been made and all was in order. Tonight, they would become. The five were moving side by side, taking large, confident strides. Ego oozed from each, as they knew instinctively they were better than the "normals" they passed on the street. They were a pack of wolves on the hunt. One of the two men took the lead and stopped. Spinning around, he grinned at the others with his porcelain fangs.
"Let's get crazy."
He was simply known as Zeke. His chosen vampiric name was Ezekiel, taken from the Christian faith he detested. Every drop of blood he drank was his way of dishonoring the name and the religion. Zeke was dressed in a long, black leather trench coat that licked at the heels of his thick boots. The right lapel was decorated with several silver pins, including an atheist's cross and a small skull with rubies set in the eye sockets. His skintight shirt was made entirely of a stretchy mesh that revealed and highlighted his extraordinarily fit chest. A tattered pair of leather pants were plastered to his legs. His short, messy hair was jet black with a few wisps of red hanging down over his forehead and the pair of oval, rose-tinted sunglasses he always wore. His face was long and gaunt with well-defined cheekbones. A long goatee hung down from his chin almost to his chest and was dyed the same color black as his hair. Several piercings hung in his left ear, attached by a thin silver chain to another in his left nostril.
He was the unspoken leader of the pack, an honor he had earned through seniority. Zeke had recruited most of his group, or "sired" as he liked to call it, through a blood ritual. At twenty-three, he was also the oldest of the group. His fascination with vampires held its roots in his childhood. He had been inadvertently introduced to the concept while watching television one afternoon. To this day, he could still remember the film's title, who it starred, what channel it was on, and the time of afternoon he watched it with his eyes open for the first time. Given a little bit of time, he could also probably tell you the complete meteorological conditions for the day in question as well. It was the moment of his rebirth when he became aware there was much more between Heaven and Hell than ever revealed to him.
Zeke had been born a sickly child, suffering from severe allergies, asthma, and eczema. It was hard for him to lead a normal childhood, but that didn't stop him from trying. The time he tried out for the basketball team in junior high had left him bedridden for an entire week due to a massive asthma attack during the third game of the season. That was a difficult lesson for him to learn. He knew he could never participate in extracurricular athletics, even with the comprehensive medical treatment he was enduring. Through his formative years in high school, his general mental stability worsened??"although he would say he finally began to understand the path that lay before him. He began to suffer through intense periods of depression that only worsened his feelings of isolation and loneliness. It was then he met the woman who would change his life.
He was a senior and she a freshman. The first time he set his eyes on her, Zeke knew this was his Gothic Queen. She revealed to him that she was a vampire, and needed blood to survive. This was music to Zeke's ears. He willingly became her donor in hopes he would eventually be changed himself. This was his chance to get away from the pills, the diseases that plagued his entire early life. He would live forever in a place sickness could no longer touch him. She was the miracle cure he had been seeking his entire life.
It was the night of his eighteenth birthday that he first gave in to her dark temptations. On the small bed in his room while his parents were out of town, she drank his blood for the first time. At first, there was the need to hide what they were doing. He would cut the inside of his bottom lip with a razor blade so she could feed. After a while, though, all pretenses were abandoned. Cuts began to appear on his upper arms and back, and a few even showed up on his neck??"for which he still bore the scars.
Soon their duo became more as members were taken into the fold. What had begun as an intimate connection between the two was perverted into something different, something darker. But as with everything in high school, an end came even for this tightly knit group. People moved away, harsh words were said and addictions became all consuming. Zeke lost his hold on the vampire world. He was back to being himself, and that frightened him. In an act of desperation, he contacted a group of vampires in London via the Internet. He dropped out of college in the States and hopped a ship to England. There he met up with his new group, but wasn't immediately accepted. Through several acts of initiation, including blood rites and outright crimes, he finally became one of their ranks.
Zeke found a job working at a blood bank as the night watchman??"an idea he remembered from that very first vampire movie he ever watched. From there, he could supply fresh blood to the group while maintaining a steady income that paid for the small flat he lived in alone. He was finally living the life he wanted. During his voyage by ship to London, he had seen his last sunrise and sunset. He never turned back. Through several power struggles and machinations, he came to lead this "coven" of vampires. He immediately trimmed down the size of the group, keeping only the true believers. They were:
Ina, a lithe shadow of a woman had blonde hair with multiple black streaks dyed in it. Of the group, she was easily the most stunning as a vampire. Her porcelain fangs were always pearly white and flawless and she wore a pair of contacts that actually made her eyes look completely black. Ina??"who was born Christina, but had taken Christ out of her name??"was the daughter of a rich South African Industrialist. Work and money had never been an issue for her as her father provided anything she wanted without question. She lived in a small manor on the outskirts of London and was attending Oxford with her major being medicine. Ina had been a welcome addition to the group because of her medical knowledge. She could stitch wounds that had been cut too deeply, draw blood effectively, and administer basic health care (illegally, of course) to those in the coven who could not afford it.
Ina had begun her vampire life by visiting several themed clubs inside the city. As her visits became more frequent, she found herself falling into the lifestyle, but would never consider taking the blood of another. One night as she walked home from the club, she was attacked and raped by a man who claimed he was a vampire. As she struggled to get free, she bit into his bottom lip. His blood mingled in an open wound he had given her. From that night, the transformation of her psyche began. In that moment, she became a vampire. The old Christina was gone, leaving only Ina. She never pressed charges against the man as she felt this was the turning point of her life. Then there was:
Wrack, Zeke's second-in-command. She was almost as tall as him, with beautiful, curly red hair that tonight, she had up behind her head revealing two small scars on the left side of her neck. Her story was similar to that of Zeke's. Always an outsider, she longed for something more. She differed in the fact she was actually running from the law. The coven she had been a part of back in the States had taken the game too far, too early. She and two girlfriends had assaulted a female neighbor and killed her. They had taken her blood in the ultimate act of vampirism. Her two friends had been arrested and charged, but Wrack had stolen money and escaped to Canada. From there, her flight had taken her to unknown parts and finally, to London. She was immediately accepted into the coven by Zeke and placed in charge due to her sordid history. He claimed she was the most vampire-like of them all. With her deep blue eyes, she knew she was intimidating to the younger members of the coven, and sometimes, even to Zeke. She was dangerous and they all knew it. One of Wrack's closest confidants in the coven was:
Seraph, a raven-haired woman with a large angel tattoo on her back. She came from a very religious family, but had begun to rebel early. She saw her family members dying of diseases like cancer and emphysema, while others just succumbed to their addictions, such as drugs or alcohol. At the age of eleven, she was placed in foster care as her biological mother committed suicide and no relatives would take her. She wondered how a God of infinite love could do this to a child. Hatred grew of Him and all things He represented. She sought to become the one thing that was most unlike Him: a vampire. This creature represented the very essence of evil in the world. It took whatever it wanted and killed indiscriminately and yet it faced no repercussions as it lived forever. Not even God could take the vampire from this place. It was beyond reproach. It was everything she wanted to be. At seventeen, she took her chosen name, Seraph, and had that representation etched permanently on her back. She was a fallen angel. In her younger years, she had lived in His light and basked in His glory, but somewhere along the way, He had turned His back on her. Seraph hated God, and she would do everything in her power to bring pain and suffering on those who spoke his name with reverence. Seraph was the lover of:
Priest. As the newest recruit of the coven, it was his duty to screen new candidates and make sure everything was in order for rituals and feedings. Priest, a young man of twenty-two years with dyed, spiky green hair, was the only English native of the coven. Born and raised in London, he had fallen in with several vampire and occult sects at an early age. Like Zeke, he was first a donor, but had finally been "sired" himself. Seminary school had been his home for the past few years as he trained to follow the path of God and become an ordained Catholic minister. This career choice was entirely his parents'. As a way to rebel and find his true calling, he joined and eventually became High Priest of an occult sect. When his dark secrets were found out, he was tossed out of the seminary. From there, he hopped from sect to sect without much luck until joining with Zeke.
"What did you have in mind, Zeke?" Ina asked seductively. It was no secret that she wanted him. He was the very epitome of the vampire to her. The two had partaken in blood rights together, but Zeke had never taken it any further (although she always offered). It always seemed like he was waiting for someone, perhaps a lover from his past.
"Tonight marks a new beginning for us all," Zeke replied grandly. Grabbing a nearby light pole, he lifted himself above the rest of the coven. "Tonight, we shuffle off our mortal coils and take our well-deserved rank among the undead." He smiled, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. "Let's send it off with a bang!"
Cheers erupted from the coven.
"Before we make contact with the other side tonight," an evil grin spread across Zeke's face, "let's burn this fucking town to the ground." Reaching into his coat, he produced a small silver lighter. "I think we have a few extra Molotov cocktails," he said, pointing to the large duffel bag over Priest's shoulder.
Priest reached into his bag and produced a small beer bottle filled with motor oil, gasoline and a long cloth fuse. He tossed it with a smile to Zeke. "The honor is yours, mate."
Clicking open the lighter, Zeke stepped down off the light pole and lit the fuse. Running into the street yelling, he lifted the explosive high above his head. Rearing back, he tossed the bottle with all his strength at a small jewelry store window. The bottle crashed through the glass, shattering on the floor inside. Flames erupted and quickly began to engulf the store. With a scream of victory, Zeke pulled several items out through the broken window as alarms blared and returned to the group. He passed out the rings and necklaces among the women of the coven and grabbed another cocktail from Priest.
Zeke lit the fuse and tossed it.
* * *
She stirred in her creaky chair for the first time in days. Her skeletal fingers scraped against the wooden arms of the chair as she slowly stood up. Not too fast, she warned herself. It had been almost a full year since the last time she tried this, but it was a special occasion. Everything was beginning to fall into place and align in her favor. Soon, she would be free of this wretched, broken-down hovel, free to walk under the silvery glow of the moonlight again and bask in its glory. It had been far too long.
She stopped as she felt a trickle of blood run down from her forehead over what was left of her nose. Lifting her hand, she wiped away the blood and applied pressure. Her skin had become so thin and brittle, it could barely contain her bones anymore. Slowly lowering her hand, she looked at the deep red substance on her fingertips. She fought the overwhelming urge to lick it off, as it would do her no good. Only one thing could save her now, and it was the very thing about to be delivered to her.
She stood in front of a window looking out over the sandy landscape. It was hot and miserable here, making it very difficult to rest during the days, but this was what her body in its weakened condition needed. She couldn't survive in any other climate, but soon, none of that would matter and she would be restored to her former glory. All she needed was patience. Something she had proved to have an excess of in the past thirty years.