A draft, crisp like the caress of a cold, dead hand, brushed along Vespyr's bare cheek as she walked briskly along the side of the road, her hands burrowing deeper into her coat pockets at each chill. The morning air was damp and lifeless, deprived of warmth from the sun, and seemed to ooze from every alleyway like a disease-- clutching and grasping at the slow-beating hearts of anything that leaked warm breath. Vespyr's own skin crawled with cold, her breath white like smoke and trailing from her dark lips. Her violet eyes were wet from the cold air and churning with emotion.

It had been over a month since Scene had disappeared. She had awoken to find him gone and having left no note or trace-- only silence in an empty house; an empty heart. Vespyr had felt as if her beating heart had been torn from her chest, stilling her cold-running blood. For days, she had remained in the house, her mind in turmoil with questions and doubts, sharp-toothed little fears and flares of anger, the sorrow and overwhelming feeling of helplessness found only at the bottom of the quicksand.

About a week ago, she had given up searching for him, figuring that if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be... His will was always obeyed. Vespyr learned this quickly. And so, mournfully, she stopped looking. Ghosts were things best left unchased.

With a sigh, the girl paused outside a cafe, leaning tiredly against the dirty brick wall, her arms pressed tightly against her sides to trap the warmth in. Her whole body shivered, and her teeth ground against eachother in preparation for a yawn. Her eyes were forward, somewhere of no interest across the street... But in a moment, they were riveted to the spot and her body seemed to freeze completely.

Across the street. Green eyes staring back behind a white mask.

Vespyr's throat tightened in shock, her breath forced back into her lungs in a sort of choked gasp. Her heart beat furiously as she took a step forward; in a matter of seconds, one step became many and she was halfway across the street, her mind leaping a bit too far ahead of her. Suddenly, the familiar figure looming in the shadows disappeared, and Vespyr snapped from her state of hysteria to find herself standing in the path of oncoming traffic. Less than a heartbeat later, she was lying limp on the cold asphalt, eyes still fixed to the spot where Scene had been standing only a moment before. She felt herself fading, drowning in disbelief as the world closed in on her. You stupid girl...

Vespyr, suspended in a darkness beyond conscious comprehension, felt herself being lifted, as if her frail body had left its meager weight elsewhere. She felt, encompassing her, a familiar aura, a hovering blanket of comfort, and she sighed deeply in her dream-like state as she was placed with ease on the soft, welcoming midriff of the bed. As the breath trailed from her lips, her awareness was uplifted and she awoke. Her eyes accustomed to the dim light within a moment, and began to drink in the details of the room she never thought she would see again. An overwhelming feeling of relief became of her as she gazed with wonder at the walls, the curtains, and was bathed in the scent of Scene's home. One doesn't realize how familiar and comforting the most humble of aspects can be until deprived of them-- but Vespyr wasn't just going to lie here as if she had just returned home from a long trip. In the place where a heart had begun to develop, a spited little monster, her trust, was baring its teeth and preparing to leap out from the darkness with betrayal glinting in its watery eyes.

The girl rose from the bed with gritted teeth, her face stern, absolute. She paused in the doorway, leaning against it stiffly. Her eyes were fixed on the back of Scene's head as he cooked, the old feeling of tenderness she once begun to feel completely soured with disappointment and a grave need for answers. Instead of beginning with the usual bitter questioning, Vespyr uttered not a word but let her presence be known with a small rap of her fingers on the doorframe. At once, she felt something rubbing against her boots, and looked down-- Fleesh?!

Her brow furrowed and she looked at the cat in wonder; Fleesh had gone away, perhaps forver, she had thought, not too long before Scene had disappeared as well. But here he was, looking quite full-grown and flourishing, a gleam of welcome shining in his one glassy eye.

"You too?" Vespyr inquired, raising a hand to the side of her face to rub there pensively. She sighed a little, and looked back to Scene with apprehension as her minion intertwined himself between her boots, purring satisfactorily. His one eye looked to Scene as well, knowingly, and without the slightest feeling of dissent. It was obvious that he had come to appreciate the man's presence.

Vespyr looked disdainfully at the dish he had offered, and shook her head ever so slightly to the cat, indicating that he could devour it himself if he wished. She was far from hungry-- in fact, though she hadn't eaten in days, she never felt the pangs of an appetite coming on. There were too many other things rotting her mind, and taking a bite out of something-- or someone-- was at the bottom of the list. For the first time in ages, Vespyr had gone for weeks without staining herself in the blood of others, feeling no affinity for the usual sport. As of late, she had just been sitting at home, on the roof, and staring at the sky; or out on the streets wandering aimlessly, eyes scanning the crowd with an ever-dwindling hope for the familiar face that was so close to her now.

Her eyes, the deep lilac pools churning with emotions that graced the air without a need for words, were locked onto Scene's sternly. She nodded slowly, an understatement of her anger. "Yes, i'm upset. I'm angry. I know you've got your own agenda to attend to and you don't give a shit about what it does to others," she began, placing her hand lightly on her chest, as if to restate the obvious, you left me, her voice coming smoothly and straight from her mind. Something about it had changed, and it was probably one of the first things Scene might notice; Her anger wasn't being funneled out, bursting forth in a harsh stream-- no, it had definitely changed. In Scene's absence, Vespyr had changed a great deal. The words that may have sounded hollow and fronted with emotion before were now filled to the brim and overflowing magnificently outward.

Vespyr had begun to worry her hands, looking down at them meditatively as she cracked the knuckles over and over; not out of nervousness, but frustration. "But you could have at least told me you were going to disappear. At least then i could have slept a little easier... knowing you were alright, and all. Uncertainty is an awful feeling to be stuck with."

Vespyr's eyes widened as Scene's hand stung her face, but she didn't cry out or give him the petty "how dare you!" sort of glare. Vespyr was used to being hit, abused, and, well.. confused. Scene's words and his striking out at her had thrown her off-guard, and for a moment she didn't know which to react to. She let the thoughts settle back in her mind like leaves blown by a fierce gust of wind, and turned to him with scorn. He didn't seem to get it; Vespyr showed any sort of emotion, and he took it for a sign of weakness. He talked in circles, and it sickened her to the point where she wanted to reach out for a knife and plunge right through his mask and into his skull. And so, the girl stepped forward and grasped the long handle of a french chef blade in her hand, drawing it from its sheath with the satisfactory weight of it skillfully held. It glinted marvelously as she glided toward him, her eyes blazing.

"You hypocrit. I can't you tell that i care without getting criticized for being weak, but you think you can tell me the same thing and still get away with being an asshole about it? I'd like to bury this in your fucking eye socket, but you'd probably like that, wouldn't you?" Vespyr hissed, leaning in close to Scene's face so that he could see himself reflected in her eyes. There was a moment of silence in which Vespyr raised the blade above her head, where it bared its razor-edge at Scene menacingly. Then, with all of her anger channeled through the one motion, she slammed the knife into Scene's hand which rested on the counter. If he were to remain unmoving, willingly letting her stab him, his hand would be pinned to the counter and gushing blood as the torn tendons and veins screamed in anguish. Vespyr took a step back, crossing her arms, her eyes fixed still into his.

"You seem to think i'm completely dependant on you. Well, if you make up your mind about how you feel, you know where to reach me. Take me or leave me, you can't do both."

Vespyr turned and began to walk down the hall toward the nearest exit she saw, fists clenched as they were shoved deep into her trenchcoat pockets. Fleesh glanced apathetically at Scene before swiftly trotting after her.

Vespyr slammed the door with a roar and marched back down the hallway, coming face-to-face with the version of Scene that she didn't prefer, or so she recalled. Before she could duck away from the vicious little weapon, it found a nesting place in her shoulder, scraping the bone there with a momentary flash of searing, white-hot pain. She screeched, more from the overwhelming frustration rather than the pain. Vespyr forced her head to clear, knowing that if she didn't react swiftly she'd find herself in pieces across the already blood-stained floor. Fuck.

The girl darted away from Scene, ignoring the petty weapon that dripped blood on the floor a few feet from her; a thing as small as that simply wouldn't do. Vespyr whirled around to face Scene with a massive butcher knife wielded in her hand, a thing she had plucked strategically from the gratuitous pile that was on the kitchen counter. An eerie grin had spread across her face as she looked up at him, a thing she couldn't comprehend-- she was still furious, beyond furious. Yet, it seemed that all her rage was swelling like excitement on the inside, and a moment later, she found herself driven forward with a wild need to see his blood soaking the knife, to taste it.

The throbbing pain from her shoulder had vanished; Vespyr dropped to the ground as she stole forward stealthily, rolling to her side so that she could be on her feet in an instant. At once was behind him, and, clutching the handle in both hands, she whirled the knife around her with all her strength; the massive blade plunged with a lovely spray of blood in Scene's right side, just above his waist. The femme, whose eyes had darkened noticeably, bared her teeth with a feral snarl and would leap toward him again, this time using the lodged knife as a sort of step to bring herself higher, perched on his shoulders like a cat. She clutched between her hands his masked skull, and veered to the right so that he would topple to one side with the imbalance of weight. If her maneuver were to succeed, Vespyr would back away for a moment to avariciously lick her lips, her eyes now gleaming nefariously, solid fuschia. Blood had imbued the right half of her body, and the stifling aroma of it had inundated her senses entirely.

Vespyr ducked as Scene lashed viciously at her face with the knife, her lips parting in a sadistic grin as he did so. Her head was reeling, spinning, about to collapse under the weight of something she couldn't quite understand; and yet somehow, the unquenched thirst for blood was domineering and did not loosen its fervid clutch. The way she reflexively dodged his blows came as a curiosity to her, but she was allowed barely a moment to ponder it before she was hurled backward through the wall. Her body went limp, and with a few clatterings of the broken wall pieces around her, she raised her head again with barely a wince of pain in her demeanor. She could feel the throbbing, pounding, pain boring into her bones without a doubt, but she didn't seemed to care; she was ignoring it.

Why was she fighting him? There were many reasons, many of which would go unexplained. Ravenously brutalizing others' bodies was her specialty, her hobby, her sole purpose. As of late she hadn't been keeping up with her innermost desire to do so, and so like a victim of repressed sexual desires, she suddenly couldn't resist the ecstasy of slashing him to pieces. And, as previously made clear, she was damn full of contempt.

Vespyr picked up the knife that had whizzed by her skull only seconds before, stepping brazenly from the billowing dust with ferocious speed, lunging at Scene with the knife held defensively before her to block any attack he might make with his arms. Her nimble body collided with his, her legs wrapping around his waist as she simultaneously gnashed her teeth toward his neck. If caught off-guard by the sudden weight of her body on his, Vespyr's teeth would be mercilessly clamped onto the area of vulnerable flesh just below Scene's jaw, above his adam's apple. She would swiftly tighten her jaws like a deadly device, feeling the smooth ridges of his trachea beneath the skin, and felt blood filling her mouth where the new wound gaped. While her teeth restricted him from breathing, her right hand that clutched the fulgent blade was positioned tactically at the back of his neck, the base of his skull where the mask ended. Her left hand was wrapped around his bleeding neck, thumb digging savagely into his adam's apple to further the extent of his suffocation. She passionately bit and suck Scene's neck almost as if she were doing so to his lips, her eyes closed and her face splattered with blood.

Feeling his body so close to hers had sparked some minute, carnal instinct for a moment, but her hand holding the knife was steady and ready to rapaciously plunge between his vertebrae if it were necessary.

Vespyr growled as the dueling sensations flitted through her body, sinking her teeth further, deeper, harder into Scene's neck, letting the warm blood flow against her skin, which was now hot to the touch. While her head swooned as if passing through the clutches of a mean headache, the menacing grin had disappeared. Something had happened. Unlike Scene, her heart pounded with inviolable rage. Frustration. At him, of course, and at herself as well. Screaming, seething fury for all the times she didn't know what to think or what to decide. Incertitude. Was the enemy.

And now, she would rend his hide like he had to her default solitude. For making her want him so badly, he would feel the hot breath of her wrath in his ears. Best part? She knew he didn't even have to try hard to make her feel the way she did. She might as well have smashed her own head against a wall and justice would have been served. Some part of her deep down, the honest part, nagged relentlessly in the darkness... You're the hypocrit. You are.

As the pair stumbled through the wall, Vespyr let go of him and let herself tumble a few feet away, throbbing pain coursing through her back once more. Yet still, she dauntlessly rose to her feet with a fiery glint in her eyes. She looked down at the man, the entity which had encompassed her mind ever since it had set foot before her in that dark alley. His eyes were closed, but she knew he had not given up... he couldn't have. Either way, she had gone to her knees beside him and placed a hand into the wound that her merciless jaws had opened. Her fingers clutched the rended flesh, and she yanked it toward her, delighting at the sound of the torn tissue. If Scene were unable or unwilling to stop her, she would have begun to separate the skin from his muscles all the way down to his chest-- where the real fun lie in wait.

The violently impassioned light suddenly vanished from Vespyr's eyes as Scene crushed her body against the wall. As his eyes locked with hers, she felt a sudden rush of cold, like being violently swept up in the torrents of an icey river. She stared. And stared. Didn't attempt to make a sound. Didn't even struggle. Just stared. Even when Scene's knee pounded the breath from her lungs, her gut crying out in agony, her eyes did not stray. A strange realization came upon her as the waves of excruciating, crushing, twisting pain ripped through her nerves and she could not move; a strange feeling of... ecstasy?

Her limbs trailed limply on the ground as Scene took her to her confines, tilting her head up in intrigue, as if his gaze had been enough to make the hot pounding blood freeze in her veins. As she was tossed like a ragdoll into the room, her world whirled around her, spinning into darkness. Warm, enveloping, maternal darkness.

The glassy eyes were wide open, but they did not see. Vespyr felt her exhausted body sink into the floor as her mind strayed further from reality. She was suspended, wieghtless, in the void. The fatigue seemed to seep away from her limbs, the pain with it, until she could feel nothing. It would have been bliss if not for Scene's penetrating command. It was like a harsh ray of light tearing down at her, splitting her mind in two. How she really felt?

If she had the intention of killing him, she would not have given up so easily. As soon as his eyes had connected with hers, a part of him, like a leech, had swum through their watery depths and retaken its hold on her. It could have been said that it never left. For once in her life, Vespyr had lost all of her lust to kill-- which was rare; once a victim was named a victim they weren't spared. No. She didn't want to kill him.

Normally, when Vespyr felt the urge to slay, she did so mindlessly, routinely, without emotion. Scene had imbrued her with so much anger that it was false to say that she didn't feel attached. She did feel attached to him, very-- this had been argued and brutally fought over many times before. The anger wasn't necessarily adressed toward Scene himself, not directly toward his actions, for many of the things he did had brought sparks of excitement to Vespyr's being. Rather, she was angry with herself, over and over and over again for feeling the way she did... which was strongly. It was time to stop the nonsense. Being angry about something that was A) unchangeable and B) entirely her own fault, was pure childishness.

Vespyr felt awkwardly silly... stupid... absolutely shameful, as a matter-of-fact. Shame. Shame? She had never felt it before, at least not to this degree.

A shape had begun to materialize in the darkness, and Vespyr's eyes blinked curiously as she raised her head from her knees. It was Scene, standing before her in the void, his feet planted in nothingness. His face was serene, looking gently at her as if from a distant memory. Vespyr remembered. Their nights together. The most well-spent nights of her entire life, when she had felt the comforting warmth of his skin and was wrapped in his scent like a soft blanket. In yearning, the femme reached out to caress the visage, her cold hand meeting the mask. Only, it wasn't a mask anymore. Vespyr closed her eyes, running her fingers tenderly over the soft skin of his cheek as a sensible smile spread across her face.

She didn't want to open her eyes to see him, though her hands were overjoyed to feel at last the face which so cleverly hid the mind that she adored. He was, and would always be masked to her. She didn't want that to change, because she liked him as he was.

Suddenly, she felt a warm touch on her wrist. Her eyes fluttered open to see him, the mask in place once more, with his hand wrapped around hers, leading her through the shadows into.. her bedroom? She was lain down on her bed, the matress, followed with finesse by the apparition. Memories were bursting forth like larks in the morning, and the girl's heart shuddered and began to beat longingly.

When her eyes came open again, the gentle darkness of her home had faded into the dimly-lit bedroom of Scene's, where they stood before a grand mirror. His arms were wrapped tenderly about her waist, hands lying flat on her bare stomach, sending sensations of warmth through her as she stood, gazing into the poignant reflection.

"You'll have to be just as honest," she said sincerely to the reflection. She wasn't challenging him, but she wanted him to admit as well that there was some sort of connection between them. If there hadn't been at least a spark, none of the memories would have been there at all.

"I'm very fond of you." Vespyr continued, still lost in the illusion, though she spoke out loud and was fully audible. "Your presence, your touch, your voice, your scent... They are imprinted on me interminably. I love... them... And i'm sorry for denying it so long. I've been... very childish. But that's over now..."