[@Blessed Blight]


	Matthias sat alone in the dimly lit tavern, concealed beneath the shadows of a corner table.  Gingerly, he sipped of a viscous, ruby liquid in a crystal chalice clutched between his steely fingers, keen, red eyes quietly observing the few patrons remaining.  Long, damp strands of crimson hair clung to his sullen face, neatly framing his stern, angular features, sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin ending in a meticulously trimmed goatee.  Over his broad shoulders was draped a long black cloak, barely covering a modest, charcoal Victorian suit with a frilled, white button shirt and an elegant red cravat tied around his neck.

	For a moment or so, the man sat in demure silence, watching...waiting...

	The soothing warmth emanating from the hearth kissed his pale flesh, a welcome contrast to the cold, bitter rain outside, fat drops pattering the window and snaking down the sheen surface of the glass.  Dappled shadows danced across the walls and along the floor, like abstract shapes swaying mesmerically amidst the dull, vermillion haze.

	Matthias sighed taking another small sip of his beverage of choice.  Just then, the door creaked open and a figure ambled into the light.  Matthias peered over his chalice, fixing his eyes onto the young woman as she stepped through the doorway, letting in a shrill gust of cold air momentarily robbing the tavern of its comforting warmth.  He watched as she made her way over to the bar, a few cautious glances here and there before she asked the bartender for a cup of tea.

	The first of many aspects that caught his observation were her fingernails.  They were long and sharp, similar to his and those of his ilk, but unlike the dark color of his nails, hers were more of a crystalline, oddly fascinating.

	There were also her eyes, glowing and radiant with soft golden hues, like the sun that once kissed his fair skin...now an abhorrence to him.

	Matthias remained transfixed upon her as the night waned on.  After a while, however, he slowly stood from his chair and sauntered over to the bar, the light shuffle of his polished, black riding boots trailing across the barroom floor.

	[color=ed1c24]"A bottle of your finest wine, my good sir."[/color]  He whispered to the barkeep, his voice baritone.  He then sat down beside the young woman, calmly adjusting his cloak.