Melissa woke a few hours later, however, it was still the same night. She smiled, laying her violin down upon the table. She wondered what Lazarus was up to when his words came flowing into her mind, everything he had ever said. Maybe, just maybe he was right. She was a Vampire, she was meant to be a cold-hearted, ruthless, blood-sucking killer. She sighed, getting up, she moved to the window.
Staring out into the twilight blue sky, the stars seemed to dance and sway as she reminisced about her past. Her vampiric past. She never did like the idea, living forever. Watching everybody you love die, even if it was one person. The one person you hold dearest in the whole world. Death. She thought upon this moment for a while, the cold embrace to which she had lived within for over four hundred years.
When she was turned, she thought back to that moment, she was very troublesome to her sire. "I shan't drink! How vile it would be to drink from a human!" She pleaded, but the feeling within her stomach just became worse. After the one hundredth year she vowed only to drink blood that had been donated or that of someone with no life, be them sick or dying. It was drink or die, she would drink but in the most humanely way possible.
She turned from the window looking at her fridge. She opened it, but only to find that it was empty, she expected it to be. Yet something inside her began to yearn for humanity. "No." She muttered to herself, before heading out of the door. She couldn't hear Lazarus beside her, that was his choice. She tried, and failed.
She made her way slowly down the dark and gloomy street, the orange lights flickered, casting an eerie glow upon her. She made her way to the bank, blood bank that is. She placed her hand over the keypad, the numbers automatically punching themselves in. She slowly sneaked down the stairs into the basement. A woman's voice stuttered over the Tannoy system calling people's names to see doctors. She opened the next door the same as she did the first. The fridge was set at below zero degrees but she felt nothing. She was sure her skin was even colder than that. She walked down the aisles, running a finger across the metal shelves until she came to the O negative. She picked up a few and set off, slowly sneaking back up the stairs and down the street, locking all the doors she had come to.
When she got back to her flat she kicked open the door, knowing it would probably stick if she tried to open it normally. She placed the blood packs in the fridge and set it to the coldest it would go. She sat upon the couch and wondered, where had Lazarus got to?