pale-olive skin, golden hair, you stood there,
a bit like a mannequin seeming to gawk in
interest. but interest of what? interest in
ruben? he gawked back at the fiend in hope
that your eyes would linger else where.
you were something that ruben had never
come across before, and he had seen most
forms of people living in London, although
you looked anaemic. or just foreign like ruben
himself. however he soon fled from the position
he once was in observing society, marching
in a direction in hope you wouldn’t follow.
you weren’t welcome.
the contact was broken and the stranger fled
from the predator within him. logic and reasoning
left him, as often as they had when demetri let his
instincts ravage his frozen veins. he stepped back
into the shadows, and even in the clarity of the
night all he could see was the man’s trail amongst
the essences of his hundreds of years, a loud
pulsating hum, the tenor of madman, a pull so
strong that he reappears in front of the stranger
at the first sign of isolation.
——– introductions came first,
a dignified stance and courtly
expression of gratitude for the
meal he was yet to devour.