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[Lady Avella]

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Lady Avella stood outside the bars of the cell inhaling the rich coppery scent of blood. Her fangs flashed white in the gloom as she grinned at the scene before her. Blood and body parts splattered the walls and lay in dark puddles of filth. Her child had done well with his first meal. She had kept it simple, finding it most amusing and much to her taste of irony that he should be weaned on the blood of infants.

“A child for a child.” She thought and laughed wickedly at the joke.

Suddenly, a fierce stabbing blast sent her reeling against the bars. Bright agony flashed through her brain as she writhed and howled at the pain. She was held fast, unable to move…the bars pressing against her flesh, threatening to break her ribs. Then, just as quickly, she was released. She fell to the floor gasping for breath.

“What is this?” Boomed a voice.

His anger sent her cowering against the stone wall of the outer cell. Anfalas, her beloved, stood over her, glaring down at her, appalled at the sight before him. But his outrage instantly vanished, replaced by the calm exterior she was accustomed to. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet.

“My dear,” He began; his voice calm and soothing as he brushed a lock of dark hair from her pale face, “we do not use the blood of infants to feed either our own or another’s hunger. This is most inappropriate and causes great consternation among the humans. Do you understand?”

Avella, her eyes downcast, nodded and whimpered:

“Yes My Lord.”

“Good.” He said and leaned closer to her.

The air smelled of angels and flowers as his breath passed over her. Her thoughts clouded. Her yearning for him grew. Her will weakened. Her body responded. She touched herself as his voice wormed through her brain.

“Now go,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear, his hand caressing her neck, “go now and find more suitable sustenance for your child, then return here, for we have much to discuss.”

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Haven teemed with human life. Lady Avella walked the darkened streets listening to the blood course through their veins. Smelling the air. Searching for that one special human whose blood was pure and sweet. She smiled. Perhaps she would take that one for herself and bring another, one less potent, for her child. Motherhood bore such difficult choices.

She fed on a fair skinned boy she found at the edge of town and burned the body in the common forge. Later, in the shadows of the Haven Mint, she pressed her hands against her womb. Dead, childless, forever barren. Regardless of how much love or passion she felt, she would remain barren, childless, forever cursed. Tears of blood streaked her face as she grabbed, by the throat, the first human who stumbled past. Her black claws dug into the pliant flesh of a drunken tavern wench.

“You will do nicely.” She hissed as she dragged her into the gloom.