Lost Sands

Chapter 2

Just a little bit more, it wouldn't hurt would it? The night was dark, and cloudy, making the sandy landscape seem just a little bit more empty than usual. She looked to her shaking hands, her eyes glossed over with fresh tears, her quiet sobs wracking through the silent walls of her home. But it didn't feel like a home, not anymore. Not since... She touched a hand to her neck, feeling the two indents freshly made by what she imagined to be the devil himself. Having cursed her to this new eternal life of torment and guilt.

She lifted the corpse in her hands, a small pig, recently bought from the market, though she used to hunt with her father in her youth, and used to often eat meat before with no problem. However, this, was an act that simply disgusted her.

She steadied her breath, and grabbed a cup from her cabinets, she was so hungry, and nothing could satiate her hunger, she's tried everything. Her mind trying every option out of denial, and every failure disappointed her more, it is just as she initially thought, the truth that she wanted to deny. The only sustenance that would fulfill her body's needs anymore was blood. Blood, the symbol of life, a sacred thing.

She would have to steal it mercilessly, pry the life from them, she would be cruel, a horrifying thing that many believed to simply be a myth.

Steadying her mind, she ran her knife along the freshly dead pigs neck, pooling the blood into a cup, once it filled she drank it as fast as she could trying not to vomit.

She felt it's effects immediately, she felt more alive, less hungry, less thirsty, more awake. But to her disappointment, her needs did not go away. It was like eating a snack, she would still need a meal shortly, and according to the many books she read in her panic, that meal would need to be a human.

She took more blood from the pig, as much as she could, and stored the excess in her cellar, hoping to keep it cold long enough for when she would need it next.

This time her lack of sustenance had nearly killed her, the thing that they don't tell you about vampires is that not drinking blood is not only akin to dying of dehydration, it also mirrors drug withdrawal. It had caught her off guard, really, the initial shaking and dizziness made it feel like she had just needed a drink, but then it turned to vomiting, fever, restlessness. She needed help, the hospitals would likely kill her upon realizing what she is, and while a hospital would be a great source for human blood, it was far too risky to attempt. And as much as the symptoms hurt and made her miserable. A harsher truth cut through her than any of her ailments could. She had to kill the man- no the beast that had damned her to such a fate.

She cleaned the mess, and took care of the pig, slicing it, into slices to eat, not for her, rather, she would donate it to the orphanage for the children, it wasn't much, but it was the best she could offer them.

She took a deep breath, and left the kitchen opting instead for the comfortable living room she'd been sleeping in for the past few days, there were still marks from the attack, scratches along the walls, broken paint jars, glass and colour staining the floor. She cast a glance at the fallen pot, a deep burgundy colour, and felt a twinge of hunger, a twinge of guilt too.

Just as she was getting settled on her couch, the silence creating an all too familiar sense of sadness and loss, she heard scratching on her door. Thank god he was here, the stillness was becoming unbearable.

She got up to welcome her guest in, and once she did she could hear the familiar mews of someone who believes he should be let in immediately, his complaints giving her a sense of familiarity she had longed for.

She knew the cat could tell that she's changed, but he had accepted her regardless, she respected him a lot for that, though, when she thought about it, respecting a house cat seemed silly. Although his intelligence was striking, and his attitude ever dramatic.

"Oh hello, dear, how was your outing?" She spoke elegantly as ever, her smooth voice gliding over her words despite her constant inner turmoil.

The cat responded, but whether he really understood her or not was to remain a mystery.
She looked at his pack, it looked fuller than usual, and she rolled her eyes, Mittens always had the ability to swindle the public, whether he came home with money or food was always a gamble, but typically he just comes home with trouble.
She opened his satchel, and to her surprise found a neatly folded paper, within it was a detailed piece with Mittens laying on the ground, grooming himself in the midday sun.

"My goodness Mittens, in all my years of living I have never seen anybody do such a good job of capturing all of your wrinkles" She joked, a small smile reaching her pale features.

"So you met an artist today? How interesting"

"Work like this deserves good thanks, especially when done without payment"
Artists with this ability were few and far between, and usually far above her pay grade.
She moved to her desk, and grabbed a deep navy blue ink, one of her more recently created ones, a quill and a piece of parchment to write her note.

And she wrote.
"Hello, I'd like to thank the artist that made this gorgeous piece of my dear Mittens, not only am I grateful for you painting him in all his... 'magnificence' (don't tell him I'm sarcastic, he gets pouty). But also for keeping an eye on him, I'm sure you've noticed his knack for getting into troublesome situations, so I appreciate any assurance that he is and was safe. I hope you may find this gift useful in the future, your work deserves to be explored more vastly.

Cheers to more artworks!

- Tempera"

She looked at the letter, her skillful cursive lining the paper in confident strokes, she folded and sealed the note, placing it along with a small jar of purple pigment, she'd been saving it for a special occasion, and nowadays she figured there would not be a better time to use it, or even someone to use it.

"Mittens, I have a job for you tomorrow, you need to thank our mystery artist!"
She spoke with a lightness she had not felt for days, and when she returned to her previous seat, she thought of the sketch of Mittens, and the person who had made it, and sighed.

The house felt just a little bit less empty tonight.