The trees twisted and caught on the hem of her pants as she ran. The mist swirled and glistened with the refracting light of the moon. She tripped and threw down her hands to brace her fall, her palms becoming bloodied and raw with the splinters of roots. The terror and adrenaline spiked her heart rates to unbelievable heights, and her feet carried her faster than she had ever run before. The only sound in the crisp, cold air was her breathing. She laid her wounded palms on her jean covered knees, the stinging in her side unbearable. How far had she run, where was she now? The last place she could give a name to was, Sitting Dale Park. That had to have been over an hour ago, her eyes scanned the area around her jerkily as panic lit up her eyes. That was just great! She had no idea where she was, and for what? She moodily sighed and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling out a few strands with the force that comes from frustration. She plopped down upon the cold, and wet mossy ground littered with the roots from the looming cherry wood trees. There had once been a time she would have taken a while to appreciate the beauty of things, though that had long since passed like a distant memory. The sting in her palms was so intense; she thought the wound had lit her afire. The shadow that filtered through the trees ahead awoke her from her pain induced trance. Her face split into something resembling fear yet pleasure. She toke off through the trees, roots trying to grab and stop her as her feet ran with new fervor.
Her face split into a large grin at the feel of running, as the pain no longer bothered her. She could see her target within reach only a short distance away now. Her feet carried her even faster, and she pounced upon the target of her objective. Her face was wide as her hands dug in relishing the sounds the form made, her hands slick with something unknown. Her sense of regret was replaced by the feeling of an adrenaline high. Her mouth opened in a cackle as moonlight shined on perfectly white fangs. The sound of her fangs biting into the forms long delicate neck was like that of a person biting an apple. The form below her thrashed and cried out as it’s life essence leaked into the awaiting mouth of the girl. Pulling away once the thrashing had stopped, the girl’s lips looked black with the slick yet sticky fluid. Licking her lips, she listened to the sound of silence that lay like a bug flying in the back of her head. A smirk lit up her lips as she stood and walked away muttering a few lines of acknowledgment. “People wonder why they fear things they can’t understand, yet to most I am the most beloved of this fair country land.”