A lone vampiress sits atop a rooftop, her slender form resting against the cold brick of a dark, weathered chimney. The wind howls around her, carrying the scent of rain and the distant, dying echoes of the world below. @samanthamcfiction @DiaR

She does not hold herself with the poise of a predator tonight. Her long, hair whips around her pale face, strands sticking to her damp skin as silent tears streak down her cheeks. Her deep green eyes, framed by dark lashes and smudged makeup, stare vacantly into the abyss of the storm, haunted, empty, drowning in loss. Her deep red lips, once alluring, now tremble slightly, parted as if whispering to someone who is no longer there. In her arms, cradled like something fragile and precious, is a small doll with bright red hair. Its fabric face is worn, its stitched eyes unseeing, yet she holds it with an almost painful tenderness. Her fingers, normally so deadly, clutch the doll as if letting go would shatter what little remains of her. There is no movement. No sound beyond the wind and distant thunder. She does not wipe away her tears. She does not stir. She is utterly alone. She is not a monster. She is simply a woman. A woman who has lost something more important than life.