Sauntering into the kitchen she threw her hair over her shoulder and seated herself. A mood hung about her so that she slouched and rubbed her nose, eyes pasted in a certain doom. Dramatic?


She couldn't help but feel terribly lacklustre. She had the money now for bigger and better things, even a new piano, some new outfits for the club, but instead she trudged to work and then home every day, sometimes grabbing a cheap bright blue bicycle to get there and back, a bike she had bartered off some kid in exhange for a condom and a pack of skittles. It was great to ride that squeaky bastard with the sun and wind on her face....


She looked out the window then, in after thought, and then stretched her arms and leant back into the seat. Her gaze traveled the massive quarters Erin had set up. A weird ass pang startled her, that heart thing yeah, and she tapped her chest and rolled her eyes. Did she really need the change? Yes.

It was firm and definite in her mind. Sure, she got free blood bags from the doc and a decent wage, but she was miserable. She had less than half the fun she used to and had long since lost sight of the things that stirred her heart. Silly fun with Erin, pointing at hot guys and getting riotously drunk at the Inn, or failing that, being evil with Gideon.

Lately, she'd thought on him. Their tryst. But hadn't something been there, if for a second? A welcome repose from the cold, from those that shunned them. Their miseries joining forces? He'd always been there, to lift her chin to the light and encourage her. She was not quite the Vampiress she could be, she knew he could still teach her.

And Anthen? That boyfriend thing?

And the skeleton woman? With the feral apple tree and secrets at her knees...

All these blurred recollections of the past few months.

She missed that life, and felt envious of having missed out on so much. She'd worked herself to the bone, she'd not lost weight, but spirit. Well, ya know, not reallllyyyy a spirit, the proverbial "soul" that got one moving.

She felt dead. The first time she ever had.


Leaving the kitchen she went to her room and straight to her cupboard, furrowing her brows as she pulled aside the many clothes and paraphernalia she had settled, and there it was. A loose, frayed string of sandy brown rope. As thin and tight as twine, despite the misgivings of its appearance. Her fingers reached out, green nails hesitant a moment, in, her face painted in dubious appraisal, and then she snatched it into her hand and slid it onto her left wrist.

A feeling came upon her then, the shock at first hitting icy waters. That lack of breath, of complete shock.

Hecate. The Rope. The Gallows. The Death that hunted her, even now.


She looked out the window to the swing of the manor's old sign, cast aside, and stared deeply into nothing. Her eyes as mellow and dim as ever, she shone with a sullen radiance, a quiet glow.


Strength still visited her. A grin.

It was time to roll!


And with that she was running down the stairs and out the door.