The sun set quickly that day, bringing the night too soon, threatening a silence to wash over the lands like a plague: one to make the blood run cold through the veins of the living. Though to some creatures this type of night was perfect, many roamed the lands to make people doubt and fear the shadows. Though this was part of her heritage she held no interest in the petty hunt for living blood that beckoned her heart. That hunt, that lust that drove sane men mad as they wished to drink the liquor of life from a struggling victim. 

	She was not the same as these Renfields, as she liked to refer to them as. Though she was different from them in this respect she was different in many other respects as well. Her heritage drew from the same blood lines from her father, yet her mother’s blood still coursed through her as well and that was that of a gypsy. She held no interest in taking a stage and making men swoon for her or to lust after her body. Her skills lay in her readings and physical art: the combination of the wild fire fantasy from one and the macabre lusts of another danced together in the blood that traveled through Killashandras soul.


She stood there along the edge of the oceans of time, watching the maelstrom seek its vengeance for the transgressions of sailors whom thought could control such a power of nature. As if they could control the hands of time itself, she could not fathom such ignorance. The distance faded to stormy grey and the half one stood there to face any wrath that the seas may take against her. Though they kept their distance as the waves crashed in, washing over her feet. She had not brought the wrath of the waters and knew how to keep her distance, though every so often she would bring herself out to this place to face any vengeance that the waters wished to place upon her.


Perfectly rounded eyes of ice and jade remained emotionless as she watched the turmoil unfold before her. Paled skin the color of ivory and kissed with the tint of the freshly picked peach held no flaws but markings down the left side of her cheek in the form of black ivy. After taking a small breath through her tiny aristocratic nose she parted her small dusty rose lips. Running her tongue over them to wet them lightly, tasting the remains of the salted spray.


 Her swan like neck was covered in a French style golden cloth choker with laced accents along the edge, resting against her collar bones: pulled together with a simple brown suede leather strap that fell loosely at the bottom and swept over her chest. That same style material was used as make shift sleeves for a gown which had none, fitting at her upper arms and sweeping down to her delicate wrists. The gown in which she was adorned in was unique as she was; a royal amethyst fabric covered her, flowing freely from her tiny waist. The bodice of the gown swept up her midsection and barely over her breast to reveal a valley of skin many a men had dreamed to loose themselves in but were never granted the right. The fabric continued over her shoulders and into a partial hood that covered much of her cyan locks that were cropped in a pixie fashion. Upon her brow from this hood rested a small decorative pewter broach of some sort. On the upper right portion of her chest another marking black ivy swept over her skin and became lost into the fabric of her sleeves. Delicate fingers, long nails covered in a paint to match her gown curled over the spin of the journal she cradled in her grasp. 


Though her blood was what it was she did not carry the wings of such a creature, she had had them altered. Looking like the wings of an angel bound in chains of ivy pewter. She moved not and looked from the distance as a concrete angel placed in some form of memorial to those lost at sea. She was alive as those that would lay eyes upon her and as dead as the ones they mourned. Lips parted and a soft hue formed around her as wings became hidden from the world around, letting her appear no more than a common aristocrat. Turning from the waters she began to drift towards the forest line and off to destinations unknown and unseen; knowing not where her feet would take her but only dreaming they would keep her a step ahead of those that followed. Each day was like any other, to seek out a world where she could be pulled from the doldrums of every day rhetoric and stay free from the confines of cold walls and even a colder life.