The wind blew in as she clutched the opening, staring at the stranger that stood there shocked and wide-eyed, boring into the deep cut on her wrist. She stood there looking, watching, pleading him to help her.
Pleading with her eyes, but then it was too late. Her body had fallen, collapsed with an agile thud and at the same time the colour drew from her face.
The blood around her splattered as she landed in it, while he just looked in horror and finally came to realize what he had to do. He steadily walked up to her docile body, grasped her arm firmly and slowly brought the injured wrist to his soft, smooth lips to around the rupture whilst beginning to draw the remaining blood and bit his own wrist for Layla to drink.
After he had finally saved her, he made as much noise as possible to alert her parents of the incident. Of course he had to be gone by the time they got into the room, with a final crash of the remaining parts of the mirror; they had finally come in to scold her for making too much noise, but were confronted with the horror scene that stood before them.
By this time, he had gone...