A slight movement. For all she knew, it could have been a shadow, cast by the moon. But, had she been paying attention, she may have noticed that there was no moon to cast such a shadow. A thick bank of ominous purple clouds hid the silvery orb, the only illumination coming from the single flickering streetlight standing at the end of the darkened street. The girl stood in this single patch of light, a dim orange circle floating in the inky midnight shadows.
The shadows stirred. The tattered edge of a crimson cloak drifted into the circle of light, the owner of the garment tantalisingly staying just out of sight. A crow caws harshly from the blackness, and the girl looked around, startled out of her dreams. She takes a few tentative steps forward. A pair of brown eyes, tinted red like mahogany wood, track her every move, their expression one of sadness and hunger. The eyes of a trapped, helpless beast.
The girl spins around, her long jacket fluttering around her knees. She meets the watchful gaze, her own emerald green eyes wide with shock. The mysterious stranger steps out of the shadows, keeping to the edge of the pool of orange light. He throws the hood of his cloak back. White hair, flowing over the figures shoulders and midway down his back, frames a face that is barely paler then his hair. The torn and stained red cloak swirls around his shoulders, caught in a sudden breeze. The eyes, locked onto the girl's, are narrowed with a sharp, cruel glint in them. The man smirks; a thin milky-white fang peering out under his top lip.
The girl steps back, an annoyed, defiant look forming on her face. She scowls, spitting out a slow, venom-filled sentence.
“You blood-sucking, filthy creep.”
The man crosses his arms over his chest, smiling disarmingly. “That’s a little bit harsh, lass. Appearances can be deceptive, after all. Here I am thinking you actually know what you’re up against.”
The girl glares at the man before her, her hand hidden behind her back beneath the heavy material of her coat. “I do know what I am up against, Sir,” she spits the last word with a voice heavy with hate. “And I think you may well find I’m more than I appear.”
The white-haired man grinned, baring needle sharp fangs. “Well, then, missy, instead of calling me a blood-sucking creep, why don’t you use the proper term?”
The girl sighed, withdrawing her hand and stepping forward, plunging the stake held in it into the man’s chest. He collapses, a startled look on his pale face, before dissolving into the shadows.
The girl walks off, muttering under her breath as she walks.