The sound of constant water dripping stirred her into consciousness as her heavy lids fluttered, observing trickles of water running down the stone wall. The air was stale, with a hint of musk and animal fur that offended her nose. The faint scent of wood and animal fat burning explained her flickering shadow cast upon the stone wall like hieroglyphs. Suddenly, her shadow was joined by another on the wall. Turning slowly, someone wearing a long, black cloak had knelt down beside her as she lay upon a bed made from straw and fur. The cloak presented an arm to her lips. In the dim lighting, she could barely make out the many bite marks upon the hairless arm.
"Drink!" the soft voice urged from underneath the veil. Her mouth begin to water in anticipation. Cautiously, she pressed her lips gently on the arm, easing her fangs into the soft tissue as the warm blood slowly began to pool inside of her thirsty mouth.
She drank deeply as the voice sighed with every suckle she made.
"Enough"! the voice demanded, swiftly removing the arm, leaving her side. But she knew that it wasn't the arm of the one that made her.
Soon another cloaked arm was presented to her, urging her, as had the last one, to drink. She hadn't drank her fill until a total of eight arms had been presented to her hungry mouth. Yet none of them belonged to the one who had, on that night, made her into the creature she was now.
Fully satisfied, it was time to investigate her surroundings. With each step, the sound of twigs and debris could be heard crunching underneath her soiled, bare feet as she made her way down a narrow corridor, using her hands to steady herself alongside the knobby rocks that covered the walls. Looking up high above her she saw the sharp stalactites hanging from the ceiling, noticing that every few feet a burning torch was placed leading to an opening up ahead. Certain that she had never been here before but knew that wherever this was, she was finally home. The opening gave way to a room carved out of stone, complete with tables and chairs fashioned together with old wood and animal fur.
He was seated at a desk cluttered with scrolls with his back facing her. It was him, the one who made her. With her heightened sense of smell, she recalled the scent of his skin. It didn't smell like the skin of the mortal assistants that allowed her to feed from them.
From afar, she watched as he busied himself like one possessed, going over every detail, every letter, every word. She couldn't wait to touch his skin once more. If only he could feel the fluttering of her heart, she thought. The sound of a crackling twig drew his attention. Startled, quickly he rose from his seat as a scroll rolled off the table. She had only a glimpse of his slightly worn face that night in the dimly lit tent.
But she didn’t have to see it fully; she had known of it before she ever saw him. He was attempting not to appear awkward while standing silently with a nervous smile upon his face.
"I take it that you are feeling well today," he said softly, bending down to retrieve the scroll, his words suggesting that she had been here for more than a day. In fact, she had been here for three, mostly feeding and sleeping until she regained her strength. She stood with arms pinned to her sides as he carefully placed the scroll back onto the table. "I was a bit worried about you. I was under the impression that I had not found you in time."
But, deep down, Willow knew that he would. Ever since that day he saw her in the company of her master, a mortal named Kimbrough, who many believed held mystical powers. It was said that he was gifted to see the future and interpret dreams, all for a handsome fee, of course. After two failed attempts at identifying the girl that the 'Sayers' spoke of in their writings of the scrolls, Willow was certain that this would be the one. To make sure, he sent a mortal assistant to follow the pair as they traveled from place to place.
