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Description
Following Edwin Grenniger into the alley was perhaps one of the stupidest things that any woman could do, especially one as fair as she. The lad had concocted an almost pitiful explanation for his distress, a brother who had been shot for insulting a man's mongrel of a wife, bleeding out slowly as he ran from the tavern. Supposedly Edwin had searched for anyone on the streets for help, anyone who could help him save his poor, poor Nathan. His real brother lay in an unmarked grave thirty miles outside the city, but he had used the excuse many times before, typically on those less noticeable than she, but he could feel that gut-wrenching shudder, that pulsation in his veins, the need to satiate his urges. The young woman was scarcely more than a girl in his eyes, most assuredly far weaker than the working girls he had taken in the night, stealing their innocent eyes as his prize when he was finished dispatching them from the back alleys and docks in the areas of town that none dared venture save the desperate and stupid. Her wide eyes kept looking for him as her scarf trailed behind her, trying to keep up as he ran around and over the refuse of the the city, steadily leading her empathic innocence through the maze of the backways, finally coming to a dead-end and looking around quickly.

She was perhaps a year or two older than him, but most of those he had picked had been even older. He had strangled them, gutted them, scooped out their eyes as trophies and soon he would have another. Ah, here she was now, panting, eyes even wider in confusion, brow furrowed.
"Where is your brother? Did he leave to try to get help himself?" Was she really that stupid? Those more wise about the nature of lies would have taken note of the lack of blood, the lack of any recent bootprints in the dirt and grime. He pulled his tool of choice for this fine evening, a large butcher's cleaver, not wanting to have his hands slipping on that damned scarf, and wanting to make it quick. He had led her far from any who would hear her pleas of help, but it always paid to be swift regardless. He slowly shook his head, lifting the blade up to his lips, kissing it and lightly licking the blade, drawing a thin trail of blood across it.
"My brother's been dead for years, my pretty, pretty little doll. It's not he you have to save now, but yourself." The woman shuddered, licking her lips slowly, her eyes confused, like some where when he revealed his nature to them. He hated those ones.
"So... Have no one left in this world?" He grit his teeth, recalling the feel of the strap on his back, the whimpering of his poor Nathan as he took the lashing for him while Mother, dear Mother just gazed out into the rain and falling leaves and sun and moon with an every present distance and fading grace. The two Grenniger boys had fled that house years back now, and he would be unrecognizable, if he ever became desperate enough to return to it.
"Shut your stinking hole my pretty... Dolls should be silent. You will be... After you beg and whimper for mercy that will never come." He rolled the handle of the cleaver in his right hand, moving steadily closer to her, circling her. Like most girls she tried to run, but the mud was too soft to do more than stumble, and she lost her shoes in the process. White stained with brown, just like her red dress had now become. He chuckled, moving closer as she shuddered, struggling to rise back to her feet. He pulled back the cleaver, ready to land the first blow when he realized she wasn't sobbing. She was laughing.

His grip faltered for a moment and he licked his lips, shaking as he moved his hand down swift as a falling elm. He blinked as she was suddenly holding his arm, pulling him closer and opening her mouth wider than he ever thought possible. Not only from one as demure as she had seemed, but from even the loudest of blowhards. He struggled, trying to free his arm, to bring down the blade on her back even, but she broke his arm, making him cry out in agony, dropping the cleaver into the mud. She licked her canine teeth, which slowly lengthened before his bewildered eyes.
"Still find me so pretty, Edwin?" She almost hissed out as she shuddered, breathing in his ear. His mind raced in panic and he tried to cry out for help, but her free hand quickly gripped his jaws and chin, holding them tightly together. "You know, I was actually hoping you'd be more interesting than all this charade... More than the little liar out of his league."
"What in all that is holy are you?" He seethed as he struggled to get free, hitting her arm with his free hand. As she bared her fangs again, she passed by his ear once again, hissing an answer before sinking them into his neck.
"My name is Mary. And what I am is thirsty."

Description
Following Edwin Grenniger into the alley was perhaps one of the stupidest things that any woman could do, especially one as fair as she. The lad had concocted an almost pitiful explanation for his distress, a brother who had been shot for insulting a man's mongrel of a wife, bleeding out slowly as he ran from the tavern. Supposedly Edwin had searched for anyone on the streets for help, anyone who could help him save his poor, poor Nathan. His real brother lay in an unmarked grave thirty miles outside the city, but he had used the excuse many times before, typically on those less noticeable than she, but he could feel that gut-wrenching shudder, that pulsation in his veins, the need to satiate his urges. The young woman was scarcely more than a girl in his eyes, most assuredly far weaker than the working girls he had taken in the night, stealing their innocent eyes as his prize when he was finished dispatching them from the back alleys and docks in the areas of town that none dared venture save the desperate and stupid. Her wide eyes kept looking for him as her scarf trailed behind her, trying to keep up as he ran around and over the refuse of the the city, steadily leading her empathic innocence through the maze of the backways, finally coming to a dead-end and looking around quickly.

She was perhaps a year or two older than him, but most of those he had picked had been even older. He had strangled them, gutted them, scooped out their eyes as trophies and soon he would have another. Ah, here she was now, panting, eyes even wider in confusion, brow furrowed.
"Where is your brother? Did he leave to try to get help himself?" Was she really that stupid? Those more wise about the nature of lies would have taken note of the lack of blood, the lack of any recent bootprints in the dirt and grime. He pulled his tool of choice for this fine evening, a large butcher's cleaver, not wanting to have his hands slipping on that damned scarf, and wanting to make it quick. He had led her far from any who would hear her pleas of help, but it always paid to be swift regardless. He slowly shook his head, lifting the blade up to his lips, kissing it and lightly licking the blade, drawing a thin trail of blood across it.
"My brother's been dead for years, my pretty, pretty little doll. It's not he you have to save now, but yourself." The woman shuddered, licking her lips slowly, her eyes confused, like some where when he revealed his nature to them. He hated those ones.
"So... Have no one left in this world?" He grit his teeth, recalling the feel of the strap on his back, the whimpering of his poor Nathan as he took the lashing for him while Mother, dear Mother just gazed out into the rain and falling leaves and sun and moon with an every present distance and fading grace. The two Grenniger boys had fled that house years back now, and he would be unrecognizable, if he ever became desperate enough to return to it.
"Shut your stinking hole my pretty... Dolls should be silent. You will be... After you beg and whimper for mercy that will never come." He rolled the handle of the cleaver in his right hand, moving steadily closer to her, circling her. Like most girls she tried to run, but the mud was too soft to do more than stumble, and she lost her shoes in the process. White stained with brown, just like her red dress had now become. He chuckled, moving closer as she shuddered, struggling to rise back to her feet. He pulled back the cleaver, ready to land the first blow when he realized she wasn't sobbing. She was laughing.

His grip faltered for a moment and he licked his lips, shaking as he moved his hand down swift as a falling elm. He blinked as she was suddenly holding his arm, pulling him closer and opening her mouth wider than he ever thought possible. Not only from one as demure as she had seemed, but from even the loudest of blowhards. He struggled, trying to free his arm, to bring down the blade on her back even, but she broke his arm, making him cry out in agony, dropping the cleaver into the mud. She licked her canine teeth, which slowly lengthened before his bewildered eyes.
"Still find me so pretty, Edwin?" She almost hissed out as she shuddered, breathing in his ear. His mind raced in panic and he tried to cry out for help, but her free hand quickly gripped his jaws and chin, holding them tightly together. "You know, I was actually hoping you'd be more interesting than all this charade... More than the little liar out of his league."
"What in all that is holy are you?" He seethed as he struggled to get free, hitting her arm with his free hand. As she bared her fangs again, she passed by his ear once again, hissing an answer before sinking them into his neck.
"My name is Mary. And what I am is thirsty."