Brigit's Flame August 2011 First entry: The streaks of cerise...
The streaks of cerise in the evening sky made him feel hungry. Standing in the shadow of the high-pillars of his once-proud mansion, Vastell gazed out over the beach to the ocean. Soon it would be night, full-dark without even a sliver-moon to light the way. He liked this time of month. It meant easy hunting with easily confused and scared prey. He liked scared prey. The terror meant the blood tasted sharper, fuller, like a fine red wine. No awe-struck sweet virgin's blood for him. That was like candy. He wanted food, wanted to feel the hard-gushing sustenance pour into his mouth as he sank his fangs into their soft, neck-flesh. "Soon," he murmured to himself, as he skulked just out of reach of the dying sun's rays. He pulled his black cloak tight about his own throat, picked up his jewel-handled cane and walked carefully back into the mansion. Only a few minutes more before he could feed.