What happens when the past comes back to bite someone? Does a person literally get bitten; most times they don't... Other times, rare times they do. This usually only happens however when you deal with vampires. Of course vampires...even in Arda were uncommon right? Of course they were then, but a lot happened in the 200 years that a young Vampiress known as Seregloth was sealed away. She was powerful, beautiful, and bloodthirsty. She took her name from their Elvin tongue, Seregloth meaning blood flower. She drank their blood and haunted their streets, she fed almost every night, which was way more than needed to be sure. She was, was being the key word here, she was mighty then she went after the wrong person.

Sere, is her abbreviated name, a name that her close friends in life had called her by. Sere chose to go after elves because they could not turn, and this meant she did not have to worry about minions and such. The Idea never appealed to her and she never sought human blood. She had a refined palette in her words, this just means she was very picky about the blood she was going to take in. She preferred Elvin blood to all the others because it could be like wine. The older it got the more delicious it tasted on her tongue, and more often than not it gave her more strength than other types of blood. That was why she set up shop near more predominately Elvin areas, so that she could have an abundant supply of her favorite food.

Sere got careless once though, and once was all it took to get caught. Once was all it took to teach sere a lesson. Not to mess with the bride of an elf lord, that was the lesson she was forced to learn. The product of her mistake was that that elf lord hunted her down rather viciously, it went on for a year or so before they finally caught her. And he, by using powerful Elvin magic, sealed her away in a crypt. Part of this whole process was to punish her for eternity, so she was kept alive. She was shut in a silver lined coffin that was also bewitched to sap away her physical strength and eventually her magical power and knowledge until the barest essentials were the only things left.

The crypt that she was sealed in was one that had been used before, mostly for lesser spirits and such. But none the less it had a rather distinct look about it, gray stone worn away after hundreds of years of watery erosion. But still the dark and sinister markings used to keep the dead at bay were still there, as deep and visible as ever. The crypt smelt of dust and mold, of stagnant water and what little light there was in there came from odd stones placed haphazardly on the walls. Bones had been reduced to dust on the floor years before that, they lined the sides of the hallway that led from the entrance back into a circular room. Deep into the ground, it was, and one could barely see without a light of some sort. And thank the goddesses that there was not light or a person would have seen chained skeletons with pieces of dried and rotted flesh still hanging about them.

The place was morbid and very dreary, but the worst of it was that not soon after her sealing Sere’s punisher was killed in a struggle. And as such there was no one there to remind the world of her menace. Years past and her image faded, she forgot all but the most basic things of her craft and her body had all but dusted away. To remedy that all she would need was to drink a person’s blood, anyone's blood really and her strength and beauty would come rushing back to her. Time has an odd and nasty way of having the past come back to bite you in the butt. This was the case for a small party of peoples daring to enter this most foreboding place of rest. Sere of course knew they were in there, and she was waiting for them to get close enough to her.

If only they would bring themselves close enough to the weakened coffin, rotting away before her very eyes. Yes the coffin had been made of wood, and as it had rotted so had she for the most part. The little bit of energy that she did have left would have been enough to get out of the horrendous place, but she would not be able to do more than that so death was inevitable for her if she chose that road. Instead she opted to wait and wait for someone to come by her coffin. For someone to get within her grasp and give her the blood she needed to truly live again and more importantly to start gaining her powers back. So wait she did, and maybe just maybe that day would have been the day that she would get close enough to be freed.

She could here them now, the lot of them walking about in the dark. She smiled inwardly to herself. Maybe she would finally get a meal after all these years... ‘How long I have waited in this moldy old thing, for someone to get close enough and this is the first time in fifty years that anyone has even dared come near this place...I can feel it in my bones...today will be the day...’ she thought to herself lying there under the molding and rotting wood.

Horus thought himself to be a decent man, as decent as men could possibly go.

But even those that strived to better themselves had conflicts... and in Horus’s case, money. As a mercenary swordsman, there were little opportunities in which he was employed to an honest patron that would pay for his expenses. Many often fled in the course of the journey when returning ‘home,’ wherever that would be, leaving the mercenary astray in the wilderness and isolation. Though he found his way back to civilization before reaching the point of critical health, Horus could never rid himself of the pain of being betrayed and discarded. However, he never did expect much more from would-be ‘willing’ patrons – men were selfish creatures and Horus accepted such truth. And now, he again suffered the egocentric tendencies of man, where they had set camp for the night, but instead, decided to take off while the Dhampir slumbered. Though Horus would not have usually held a grudge against such people, they had stolen his horse, leaving him to travel ‘home’ on foot. The Grasslands – Horus shrugged, deciding that it was better than being abandoned in the mountains or some region of extreme, cold weather... after all, desert men did not fare well in the chill of winter’s frosty breath.

Pushing himself up from the dry earth of the savanna, he inched closer to the dying fire that whispered smoke in the center of the man-made clearing, pressing his open palms towards its sparse heat. Horus felt his throat tighten as he made an attempt to gather whatever warmth he could, glancing about to make notice of his surroundings. From the scuffled earth and dirt that surrounded the fire, it was evident that the others had left in a hurry, leaving behind a pot or so, as well as a plethora of other items that Horus would find little use for. He was not surprised that he could not find any trace of his horse – with a calm sigh, he decided he would have to purchase another later. It was yet a handful of hour before the sun would rise over the grassy horizon, giving the warmth he found so familiar onto his bronzed face and clothed shoulders. Yet, for now, he would have to settle with the fire as the wind slowly devoured it. When the fire finally died with only ash and slight embers as a trace of it ever existing, Horus pushed himself up and advanced forward to the direction of the wind. At least I still have Chokeslave, he thought mildly, allowing his thick fingers to play over the leather-bound hilt of his desert-forged scimitar. And, slowly, as he continued on, he could feel the memories gnaw at his conscience, glazing over his unholy visage with images he had never lived, but those his father had...

She paused, her cerulean eyes slowly turning towards him. A smile plastered over her thick, rouge lips, curling slightly more in one corner than the other. Somehow, Horus knew her name was Amelia... she too, was a vampire, as he could see by those fanged canines that extended past her lips, ivory in contrast to her savage, beautiful, red mouth. Garbed in scarlet velvet, she was the gothic image of dark, blistering beauty – a queen among the Damned that she had created, a queen to those whom proudly called themselves her fledglings. Her smile, so subtle yet powerful enough to bring destruction upon an empire, was hypnotizing, traced with an arrogance and beauty only possible by unnatural, daemonic things. Horus felt lust and pride overwhelm him, even though these were not his own feelings – his father, a vampire, slowly extended his hand out to touch the white flesh of Amelia’s cheek. A purr emitted past her lips as she slowly closed her eyes, leaning into his father’s touch – yet, the purr gradually began to dissipate into the sound of a creak, a horrible noise that resounded all about Horus.

Then he realized, as he was released from his reverie, his feet had taken him too far. No longer did the tall grasses brush at his boots and hands, but instead, the smell of death and decomposition graced his nostrils. Though reflex caused him to lurch over and grab the nearest tombstone to steady himself as the smell hit him with a savage blow, Horus kept himself from vomiting as he pushed himself back up into a stand.

Even though he was used to Death, the smell was still quite unpleasant.

And somehow, though he felt the impulse to run and flee from this land of pestilence and macabre haunting, Horus wandered deeper into the dead region, stopping only as he entered a crypt and found at his feet a coffin of dying wood. Without thinking, he drew Chokeslave from his left hip and thrust the blade into the side, using the weapon to pry the lid off with the brute, hypnotized strength that graced his limbs.

She was beautiful – even the Dhampir could not deny such truth. Though the unholy energy in which swallowed her was all too familiar to him, and though he often found such dark presence to be overwhelming and disturbing, Horus did not recoil but instead, stood so that his shadow would play over the pretty lines of her immortal face. His pupil-less eyes, fixated upon the undead resting before him, studied her with little light to expose what emotion might have traced across his own features. Bare hands, scarred and calloused were idle at his sides, unresponsive as he simply watched half in awe, half in disgust. He knew immediately what she was. The vampire kin were not too unfamiliar to him – unlike most of his race, Horus had not pursued the career of hunting those he called cousins... yet, he was not unversed in knowledge of the Damned. The coffin that surrounded her was aged and smelled of decay and rot, where her corpse was perfectly preserved and undisturbed by the wearing of existence. To the Damned, Time was not an element to their dark souls. He stood there, paralyzed and unable to move –Chokeslave in his right hand, his left idle and useless at his side.

He stood there, waiting.

Her nose craved for the smell, the scent of this man that had entered her domain. That was what she had come to call it, her domain, it was her little kingdom. The dank dark and dreary shadowy tomb that in her mind was more than a just a prison or a punishment. This area represented a thousand years of sorrow and hate, of torture and anger. Bones hung from the walls, dead permeated every inch of every substance in this room. Death reached down into the very heart and soul of this place to the depths of the darkness in this void. She had always wondered what the world outside had become of and as he drew closer to her, as he made every step further into that black hole, she was going to get her wish. Her desires would at last be fulfilled and her lust would be slaked.

His smell and odors filled her nostrils, awakening them and giving her an accurate mental picture of the room around her. It was such a refreshingly new smell to her that it gave her an idea of the world outside, something that she would never get see in the day time again. His odor, for the lack of a better term, gave her a mental image of him coming closer. Lying in the dark silence for so long gave her this. Later on though it would come to fade away as she was reintroduced to the world but for now it was all she had to go on.

For a second their silence, except for his breathing, filled the area again. She took it in with an all but silent rattling gasp through her nose. Her eyes flickered open as she sensed, or felt would be a better term, him near her. She had always seen her eyes as a flaw in her body. They were so unique, a silvery gray almost ghostly with cracks of white running through them as if they had been pieces of glass that got to hot. And then the top came off of the coffin. The wood that was so week that had held her in place for so long was now off and away from her. She had heard the minute sound of the sword or whatever it was coming off of his hip. She heard it stab into the wood as he pried the cover off and released her from her arborous prison.

She could not help but think ‘I ‘m free at last...’ as she let her body be looked over by this veiled stranger. She could sense something in him, more so than his succulent blood rushing about through his veins. Every pulse of his heart sent a surge through her body yet still it did not move, she had always told herself that the first thing she would do when someone came would be to overwhelm them with fear. That is what she had planned to do and that is what she did...she exhaled a raspy gasp of stale air. And with it, barely discernable in the absolute veil, her form of the spell... fear. She had been and still was a sorceress along with being a Vampiress and shape shifter and as such she had her own variation of everything...including fear.

It took on the form of a smoke, of wispy misty black smoke, that snaked through the air and should go into the target body...overwhelming it. When she was satisfied with what she had thought was enough of the spell; she launched herself up, her bones popping all over with a sickening noise along with it. This was the first time in over 200 years that they had moved even a little, and she wrapped her arms around him... As she was about to bite into him though she sensed something strange about him. Not only was he not Elvin but he was also not fully human...she smelt something of her own blood in him as well. It was what kept her ancient fangs from piercing the skin, the ever so thin skin, of his neck that covered the artery that would give her the life she needed. Instead she stopped, hanging onto him still with claws grasping into his back.

So there they were; A man that she didn’t know caught in her embrace her fangs just a push away from biting into him. She was hanging there in the rags that had once been beautiful green dress. It looked as if it was made of thick dust as if a gust of wind would disintegrate it before their very eyes. Her dark hair even longer than she would have ever liked it, but wispy and frail, falling down to her feet. The whit portions of her bangs streaming down to her chest and her skin was so clammy. She looked lie a horrid spirit rife with death had come back from the grave to haunt the world again. She was still beautiful but in an on the edge of death type of way. Despite all of what she had told herself it did not turn out how she expected, it never does really, and this case had been no different. Instead she found herself saying to him, “Tell me...Tell me what you think of me... do you fear me... am I still that beautiful...that I take people’s breath away...” each pause representing a gasping intake of air. It was wasting the energy she had fought so hard to hold onto... and then a thought crossed her mind. A simple thought really, but alas it was one of those what if thoughts. One that simply depended completely on what the other says.

‘What if I can trick him...trick him into helping me sustain my life until I find a more suitable...food source...vampire blood has little or no use to other vampires. Except to sustain them for short bits of time, but he is not wholly vampire... he is only part...which gives me some strength...’ her line of thought was broken as she struggled to keep her grasp on reality and not to bite straight into him. In ways they were related...and he was at least part vampire after all which gave him some rights before her. That was how she had always dealt with people of her race. “Will you help me survive...to live?” She asked of him.

His expression was... weak, and distant, almost as if he were somewhere off, far, far away... Though there was an idle moment between them as their eyes locked, his body paralyzed to the spell of the vampiress as he gazed downward, a sad light touched the hard lines of his face. It was the face of a tired man, one whom had experienced one too many trifles in his time... yet, such features did not often grace such young faces – he appeared far older than he truly was in both body and year. Even as a faint, stale air tousled the corners of his desert rags, he appeared static and lost in time, as if it had already murdered him, and as if he were as ancient as the skeletal remains that surrounded the crypt. Horus did not move as she surged forward – he couldn’t – grasping and seizing him within the cradle of her frail arms. He was motionless, silent save for the shattering resonance that filled the crypt as the scimitar fell effortlessly from his grasp and unto the worn earth of the tomb. Horus could feel her nails ripping into the worn fabric of his tunic, digging into the tough, bronze flesh of his back, stinging as each crimson line began to draw blood, soaking into the cream, off-white of his apparel.

His lips parted and voice played off his tongue –

Yet, the words were not his.

“My queen,” Horus’s voice replied, destroying the silence that followed her plea. His hand rose to stroke Amelia’s face, brushing the dark hair from before her eyes and, softly, running his thin, white fingers over the silken, gossamer strands. His father’s mouth smirked softly, mirroring Amelia’s grin with one of his own, curling maliciously in one corner as he tipped his chin up slightly, setting his eyes downcast over the woman. The darkness that collected in her eyes was pure, carnal desire – and, being one of her own fledglings, Horus’s father could not resist. She was asking for him and he could do nothing but comply and submit to her will. Slowly, Horus lowered one wrist before her full lips, exposing the bulging vein from beneath the white, vampiric flesh. Though his arm was cold, as the rest of his undead body, the blue vein was tempting for even the vampire to gaze upon. “Feast,” Horus spoke, his tone both commanding and offering.

“I offer myself to you, Lady Amelia.”

I am Horus, his blood spoke to her as he let her Feed from the twin punctures in his wrist. Son of a monster, son of a snakecharmer. I am a honest man. I am not a killer, I am not a killer... I am not my father’s son...

I am not a killer...

Yet as the reverie slowly broke apart, his white fingers began to bronze, turning calloused and rough, lost and tangled within the hair of this woman, no longer Amelia. Horus recoiled a step, pulling her away as he broke distance between them, his white eyes dilating with shock as the hypnotizing spell slowly dissipated. For a moment, the Dhampir’s eyes were distracted to the bleeding wound of his wrist, where he had subconsciously offered it to the vampiress in the Trance. Though he was sure that the Feeding could not have been more than a minute or so, the lightheadedness that overwhelmed him and caused him to stumble slightly spoke otherwise. Slipping into the Trance was dangerous, as there was an absence of both time and consciousness as the images of his vampiric father filled his mind, body, and soul. It was as if Horus submitted his body to another’s will, becoming a marionette to history and past events that were recorded in his Lineage, the Dark Gift that flowed through his veins and his beating heart. Though Horus felt he was only in the Trance for a matter of seconds, it could have realistically, in terms of the Material Plane, been in actuality a dozen or so minutes.

If the Trance had lasted any longer, Horus might have lost his life.

“W-Who are you?” His voice, husky and heavy in breath, demanded in a strong, arrogant air that had not been present in his previous dialect. His uninjured wrist rose to wipe the perspiration and sweat that gathered over his forehead, exposing slightly more of the bronzed flesh of his forehead as he, weakly, attempted to adjust his attention back unto her. A trembling hand, caked in already drying blood, reached for the hilt of the scimitar and seized it, shaking slightly as he attempted to steady himself. “What have y-you done to me?” He collapsed, falling hard on one knee with a force that it popped – though it would leave nothing more than a bruise, his lips pressed together into a hard line to keep from crying out. “Vampire,” he spoke breathlessly, realizing what she was, his memory slowly playing back to him. An angry line shaped his mouth as he hissed, his tone turning venomous and malicious.

“What wicked plan have you, parasite?”

He spoke to her, many of the men she had seduced before her banishment could barely even mumble something. It amazed her that his mind seemed so feeble, so weak and open, and she couldn’t resist what he offered her; she sank her fangs into his wrist. She heard him say some words, as he was lost unto his own mind, which was a dangerous place to be...even more so for him. Despite his weakness he was still able to express words, and she listened as the warm fresh crimson liquid rushed over her tongue and down her throat. It tasted so wonderful after all the years of going without, like a drug of sorts, and instead of just drinking it in, taking pleasure at the moment, she gulped as much down as she could before he suddenly regained motor functions and wrenched his wrist from her grasp. She felt his hands grasp a hold of her and rip her off his body. She fell to the ground her form seemingly all crumpled in the dusty floor of the room; she looked at him spitefully glaring at him through the dark.

She pushed herself up, her tongue licking up any of the blood that might have bled down her lips. She wasn’t going to waste any of the delicious life giving blood, even if it was the least effective of what she could have had. She had received a big enough dose of it to sustain her maybe a couple of days before she collapsed again. She came back to her senses and she started to silently almost ghostly like circled him. It was as if she didn’t have feet and just floated about the room, her ratty burial gown was long enough to cover her feet and help the trick along. “So you would call me your Queen?” She half snarled and half laughed at him, she honestly did not like the idea of minions and slaves. It was too much for her and she wasn’t ready for that level of commitment. There were so many strings that came along with an entourage of vampiric slaves, such as families seeking revenge and all that. “And now you call me a parasite...I am no more or less than you are. I just appear in a different form...” she said this all the while deciding whether or not to toy with him.

‘How long can I carry this on before he turns against me, with more than just his words...’ she pondered it for a minute before stopping between him and the hallway that lead to the door. “So what am I to you, for surely I don’t wish to be a queen...not yet at least. And I’m not a parasite...I don’t entrap people prolonging their death...I drain them dry.” Her voice started out calm but quickly turned to a spiteful tone combined with a hint of lust. Her eyes glinting in the darkness, sparkling at him through the shadows. She could already tell that he could see her, he was after all at least part vampire. “I am not but a living fleeting shadow, a being that hunts others just like a human hunts its animals. But I am one of the greater predators...for all forms are my forms.” And with the last lecturing oratory note she glew a slight bit and then her form changed. Her hair shortened and re-dyed itself; her body reformed to its proper state and her fingernails grew back into their slightly clawed state. She felt confident once again now that she at least looked the part of Vampiress even if she did not have the right clothes to go with her. Those would come later.

She looked him straight in the eye catching his full attention once more... “As for my plans, they don’t really concern you, but for the most part I plan to live. I plan to become more than a shadow of my former self, stuck in the twilight. If you don’t aid me for at least a little while...you could become part of the more morbid part of my plan...if you know what I mean.” She sniffed the air around them smelling the blood and the wound...it brought a smile to her face as she remembered the many victims she had turned into white husks. She also knew that even a small vampire bite however could make a person become love struck and obsessed...that as well brought back a memory to her as well:

The wind and the rain, swirling around the cavernous cave were he took up residence. And there she was, Liliath, or that was what her original name had been. At least she thought it was...and she was huddling inside a cold alcove waiting until he needed her. He never needed her, she was his little sorceress that he trained...she was his favorite or so he said. But the fact was that after her sixteenth he no longer treated her as such, he left her with a few bites here and there. Not enough to turn her but just enough to make her love obsessed and wanting more. No longer did she live in a fabulous chamber with books of magic and refinement. Now she lived in a small dark and wet room, with a leak in the petrified roof of the small cave system...How she hated him so much, but yet she still had a small part of her that wanted to be more. Like there was something he was looking for in her that she just did not possess. It drove her insane.

“If you think of me not more than a snake, then maybe I am one” she said and with another slight ghostly shimmer she turned into a snake, it was rather pale and white, with scales taking on the color of her hair flowing down her back. The eyes remained the same but everything else changed to reflect her body. The snake rose up off the floor making a horrible almost unbearable hissing sound that echoed as it bounced off the grimy walls amplifying itself until it hurt even her scaly ears. The snake glew on the floor in the same ghostly light as she returned to her regular self. “So tell me, what gives you the right to call me a Queen and then a parasite...” she asked of him in a mocking voice...Truth be told in her current state she most likely had just chopped off several precious hours of life that she would need.

Disgusting, he hissed silently in his thoughts, watching her in a weak gaze as her tongue rolled across that full, carnal mouth. If he had not known that she was a vampire, he would have considered such an action appealing and perhaps even tempting – yet, having to endure the overwhelming and dark power that blistered about her, he did not find such a suggestion appealing. The flesh surrounding those featureless eyes pinched together, giving a narrowed, offended appearance. The lines of his face grew hard, blistering, hot anger shaping the colors and emotion that masked his bronzed features. “Why in the name of Threnody would I call you, a leech, queen?” His tone, unwavering, was proud and arrogant, much unlike the words he had whispered lovingly when he had offered his wrist. Horus did not move as she circled him – instead, the hate that colored his face intensified, touching the corners of his eyes with malicious intent. It was as if she were an animal of predator and he the prey, toying with him before the final, killing blow would be initiated... such assumptions were clarified as she spoke of Hunt, which further seemed to disgust him, throwing an aura of repulsion to cackle about him.

Though he himself was part vampire, it was a heritage that the Dhampir did not appreciate nor honor. More burden than a prize, the vampirism that coursed through his veins plagued him with nightmares and the occasional bloodlust that drove him over the edge, making him lose control time to time. He was not sinister in nature, yet it was his subconscious that was truly characterized by his father’s lineage. Horus never knew his father and had never learned his name, yet he swore that he would never become the monster that he had grown to identify in these memories, in the Trance.

Horus felt a sudden tug at his heart, causing him to stumble and again, catch himself on one knee. The scimitar slipped from his grasp with feasible ease, chattering as it noisily rang on the tomb floor. One arm supported him up, grasping the earth with his bronzed fingers in pain, digging each finger into its surface as if it would keep him from fainting. The other, which had been previously grasping the weapon, dripped slowly of blood from the open wound as he clutched at the fabric and flesh that guarded the locale of his heart. The fluid-filled, pericardium sac reverberated painfully in the cage of his ribs, causing him to press his lips together to prevent an ear-shattering cry. As if defeated, his head dropped, casting a shadow over his features as he felt himself slip into the Trance once more...

“Amelia,” Horus voiced his father’s words charmingly, following with a quick and mirthful laughter that rung about the emptiness of the air, detailed with a dark and terrible atmosphere of pure, disgusting power. “Do calm yourself, you know I mean you no harm,” a soft curl took the corner of Horus’s mouth as he tilted his cranium heavenwards, glancing towards the ceiling of the mansion, studying the candlelight of the lit chandelier. Amelia always had such expensive tastes, Horus somehow knew – yet, it was her wealthy lifestyle that had always attracted him to this place. Physically, Horus had never been here in Amelia’s home... yet it was always in these images, these memories that he found such a locale familiar.

The image faded, and Horus found himself staring at the dark, dead walls of the tomb. A crack in the ceiling filtered in faint light that illuminated much of his surroundings to him, allowing a breeze to tousle the stale air of decaying flesh within the tomb... yet even this mild zephyr itself reeked of death, carrying the stink of rotting plants and wood into the tomb. If he were a weak man, it was without a doubt he would be sick to the heart by simply the smell, without even actually setting his eyes on any decomposing corpse. Sharpness returned to his movements as he rolled his attention back onto the vampiress, a lightness touching his face as if he had suddenly seen her for the very first time. Yet, before he could part his lips to speak, he felt himself slip once more...

Slowly, he stood, a smugness painting across his features as he approached Amelia, seizing her forcibly by the wrist. Though such an action could be considered unpleasant and discomforting, there was a strange loveliness in his grasp, an essence of desire and a suggestion of demand. While his fingers slowly released her fragile, white arm, his other hand rose to grasp her gently by the chin, raising her desperate face up to his. There was a warmth in Horus’s eyes, an eerie calmness and control that would be similar to the powerful glance a mother would give to her babe, suggesting that she was indeed, watching, and that the child should do no wrong. Yet, there was something else in those eyes, a burning passion and desire that hinted at defying impossibility... and slowly, ever slowly, did he lower his cranium unto hers...

Horus kissed her, softly and gently, the true contact of their lips only separated by the desert rag that masked his features. He released her and collapsed against her with his weight.

The Dhampir’s eyes lost their sudden brightness as he slipped away into an unconscious sleep.

(I have absolutely no idea what to do, so I made him faint. You can continue your post off after a while if you want or something, I don’t know... I’m up for anything really. Sorry for the really, really bad post, I just couldn’t figure out how to continue the plot and I don’t have any ideas for what to do with this roleplay, haha.)

She absorbed the odorous and musty smells from his clothing as he came closer, caught within his own memories. She allowed him to kiss her, it was something horrible to her the moment it came to her lips. The rag had the sent of the sand, the sun, and the desert upon it and it almost made her gag to have that thing so near her mouth now that her nose was working properly again. She did not have to bear it for long because almost a soon as it happened it stopped with him slumping down onto her. The weight was fairly heavy especially for her but never the less she caught him and with one hand she pushed him off onto the ground. With him laying at his side she walked around the tomb, careful to avoid the small amount of light that had just recently started to enter the tomb. She longed to bask in again though, momentarily forgetting that she wasn't as restricted as other vampires were. Still she didn't dare venture into in this weakened state, though she still needed blood. However she decided to approach this with caution and hopefulness, and as she came to the spot she had been aiming for she bent down to pick up the weapon he so deemed chokeslave.

She sincerely resisted the urge to lay the skeletons of others down beside him as she continued on with this plan of hers. She took the rag off of his face, hoping it wasn’t some sort of intrusion upon his religion or something. But the air was getting to him better now, and she laid the blade on his chest as she rolled him onto his back. By ripping part of her raggedy dress and combining it with loose scraps from his outfit she made make shift bandages for the cut on his hand and the impalements her fangs had made upon his wrist. If he was kind, or crazy, enough to offer his blood willing to something he made a enormous show of hate too, then she could at least prevent infections and blood loss. She lay down beside him, laying her arm over him for a time and looked at his face...it set her at ease for some reason, and it allowed her drift off into a real sleep. Something she had not encountered for a very long time. The sleep was real but the dreams were as fake as could be, a life that had once been but now was long lost and all but forgotten. A life that was rarely remembered, where she had what some would call a family others a biological ball and chain.

She was eight or so, most likely a little younger but she was still in that area. They had taken her to a park to play with some friends in Lomedor, and there she was little Liliath frolicking or whatever amongst the other little children. It was a dream that if she did have it over the others that would have made her smile had she remembered it. The whole fantasy however abruptly faded out and rematerialized in a less happy but still better time than her last few years.

She was now put up with some nice man, she couldn’t remember getting there or even where there was. she awoke in a beautiful room on top of a wondrous bed to see an illusion of a wonderful landscape. Later on she would come to find all of this gone and little more than a memory, as she would soon meet the man that would shape the rest of her life. He would teach her whatever she wanted to know and then one day he would turn on her in the foulest of ways...and that's where her nightmare started. A nightmare that she was living.


She blinked and woke up, for a few moments she was unaware of where she was. As if she was struck by amnesia, her eyes grew large as she observed the room around her and even larger when the smell of thickened and clotted blood filled her nose. It was so close to her, she could hear it pulsing around in his veins. It was as if it was all happening over again except her memory came back to her, she took her hand off of him not wanting to appear as soft as she really was to him should he wake up to find her their like she was. She pushed herself up off the ground carefully trying to avoid waking him, and once she was up she stretched her arms and yawned quietly. Stifling it she let her arms slowly recede to their positions which were at her sides.

She looked at the light filtering into the room. Had she slept possibly a few hours more it would have been what woke her, not doing her serious harm but it would have been a rude awakening none the less. And she estimated by its position when she went to sleep and its position now, night was soon to come thither.
She smiled, she knew she would have to find some food as soon as she left, but the fact was so simple. In a few hours she would be free and alive again, she would no longer have to wait. But until that time came she would have to spend the rest of her time here with this man. Or wanderer, or maybe even a hobo of sorts but none the less she would have to rely on him or put up with him for the next hour or two.