He had been following her for days, watching ever so patiently as her health had failed her again and again. He was no one to notice as he moved slowly through the shadows, slipping through the crowd as if he were nothing but a ghost. He wasn't hunting, nor was he stalking. He was simply a figure among everyone else, a man leading his own life. Among the world of humans, he was no one. He didn't have a name, reputation nor any meaning. He wasn't begging, stealing or causing trouble. He was no one, and yet he was everyone. He was a man whose presence was only known to those he chose. A man not minding anyone elses business and keeping to the shadows wasn't anyone you would lay your eyes upon more than once before the stoic and noble face would vanich from your mind forever.

The young woman twenty feet in front of him was all his golden eyes saw, her coughing - as hidden as they were - were all his ears could hear and the crimson blood staining the handkerchief was all he could smell. Everyone else, all other sounds and smells of the sickening town was blocked out to him. He did not need to take notice of anything else than the young woman. He was a man no one knew, but the man know exactly who the young woman were. It hadn't been the first time he had seen her a few nights back. He had been well aware of her for years.

The soft yet merciless winter winds pulled his long, black hair. He did not mind it, never brushing it away even if it lay in his field of vision. In fact, he would not need his vision to go wherever he wanted. Vision, such a primal thing. His leather coat was casually left open, folding to the wind and his demanding steps. His heavy boots formed deep rifts in the snow, yet it seemed as though his tracks would vanish as soon as they had appeared. He was not a man who liked to be followed and his long years had taught him just how easily a track could be mislead.

As the young woman entered the inn, the observing man stayed on the other side of the street. He was watching, listening and waiting. He had all the time in the world to get what he wanted. Being the man he was, he was used to get what he wanted and rarely stopped pursuing his desires. Closing his eyes, he let his hearing guide him where he needed to be. The soft cracking of an opened window, the flow of cold air into a slightly warmer room. Soft footsteps, breath-taking coughing and whimpers of pain. Letting his feet guide him, he calmly walked around the inn, ignoring the homeless in the alley around him.

Standing in the shadows only a few feet from her window, he watched her closer now than ever. He knew she didn't have much time left. Only hours at most. His calm stare watch her every move as his head slightly tilted.

[i]This does not have to be the end. A painful death, alone... with only letters where ones true feelings never can be written down as they should. How do you say 'goodbye' forever? This does not have to be the end. A word. A wish. That is all it would take. A painful death does not have to be the end. If only to see your loved ones one more time.[/i]

His whisper was nothing more than that - a whisper in the wind. It could come from anyone. It could even be your own thoughts.

He stood there, in the cold winters night, watching a young woman who hadn't even begun to live her life as she was dying. But for now, it was too early for him to take action. But soon, soon... she would be his, whether she wanted it or not.