Yes, she realized. In some sense, she longed for Death. The revelation struck her like a blow upon that windy turret, and the vampiress froze where she stood as the breeze pulled at her dress as if the decades long routine she was suddenly breaking was tugging at her skirt.
She looked down at the cursed knot of blackened trees which surrounded her domain—The Forest of Thorns, as the living termed—where the shades and husks of her victims roamed in endless wanderings, souls forever lost. Was she so different? By degree, by power, by authority—not by kind.
Tale Told 