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[Nicolae Sorin]

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Nicolae awoke, his brain was swimming and he felt weaker than ever before in his entire life. His body ached, his skin crawled and felt as if a million ants where devouring his skin, he swore his eyes where bleeding and his ears burned, worst of all he could hear crying and screaming. The screaming continued at first like a distant dream and grew louder and more clear by the minute until he wanted only to break his head against a wall or rip off his own ears, just be done with the noise, the God awful noise! Finally he screamed standing in a rage before slipping in a pool of crimson back to the floor. Stunned he looked to his boot, smeared a sticky dark red.

He could smell it then his eyes widened and he remembered. He'd been bitten, drained, then fed. He was dead now, he knew that clearly, or perhaps he was still dying? He'd drank plenty of her blood, the Lady Avella's. . too much it seemed as he stared down at the small pool he had regurgitated. As in life, now in death the sight of vomit did not please him any and he felt no draw to the blood there, it he knew somehow was dead. His ears twitched as he looked up at the child noticing the screaming and mewling for the first time again. The heart beat so fast, so very very fast, thundering in his ears. Promising sweet blood and relief from his aches and pains.

His eyes turned from a pale gray to a bright gold colour as he crawled to wards the infant, wanting it to be silent and to feed. The back of his mind told him somehow it was wrong, or that it was not normal. He had no urge to listen though as pain shot through his whole body. He knew like any child proffers its mothers teat that this was what he needed. He crawled over the infant one hand over its mouth, the other pressed to its chest. He quieted the infant briefly to no avail. What child would calm with a predator ready to tear it apart. . . . The thought crossed his mind before he pressed down firmly on the chest and tore into the child's tiny neck ripping flesh and spilling blood. His hand pressed down on the chest forcing more blood forth as he drank, its heart beat filling his ears, the taste of life filling his mouth, his eyes saw colours there where no names for, his body felt an ecstasy like no other, and a voice shriller than all the music filled his ears. "Drink 'My' Pet." And drink he did not wanting it to end. An infant was far too small though it stopped as abruptly as did the heart and desperate for more blood he tore the tiny body apart sucking at the wounds for the last flavour but no ecstasy ensued, no voice, no colour. . .the blood was dead. . . useless now. He sobbed, he wanted more, needed it, and such a mess. Surly the Lady would be furious at the mess. Slowly he curled up and began to rock back and forth facing the wall.