"Careful, Will."

"Yeah yeah, bugger off."

"Y'know wot they say, 'Where'd Willy go, so sad and blue? Little Lady London took 'im too'--"

"Child's folly."

"Look you're wearing sez otherwise."

The conversation mingled with the children's rhyme in the man's ale-addled mind. He really shouldn't have been out so late, his wife would nag. She always did nowdays... He kept staggering along nonetheless, making determined progress towards what he assumed was home.

/Where did Willy go, so sad and so blue?/

/Why Little Lady London took him too/

His steps were loud, hollow-sounding on the stones. It made it easy to track him. Drunks were not the ideal target, but no one else had presented themselves and the hunger gnawed at her spine. Of their own accord, her lips parted, canines lengthening further in response to the proximity to prey. Eyes sparkled dangerously beneath the hood of her cloak, relfecting the silver moonlight like mirrors.

For all the noise she made, it was if she were made of air itself. Foots made no sound on the street, her cloak failed to snap in the breeze. The shadows of doorways opened for her, surrounding her for the briefest of moments in the total security of invisibility. At some point, she ceased shadowing him, and outdistanced him, wrapping herself in an alleyway.

/Careful near the river/

/Careful near the woods/

/Careful near fine ladies in dark black hoods/

Only the vaguest idea of a shadow rose in the man's mind as groping hands reached out, begging him. He turned, arching an eyebrow. Nothing was there. Intrigue, fueled by alcohol, commanded him to step forward, into the shadows, and investigate. Better judgment warred against the intrigue, and lost.

It took everything in her power to remain hidden. Her instinct screamed nothing more than to leap, rend his flesh and let his blood trickle down her throat. She stayed frozen, only her eyes tracing his movements down the alley. Her mouth inched open of its own accord.

He strayed too close and she sprung, arms locking in place around his chest, small legs bracing on the ground against his weight. The man only saw a shadow flying towards him, eyes blazing like fire. Fingers that suddenly sprouted claws dug into his chest, holding him. His heart hammered against his back, echoing on her chest, his body singing with live, red blood. Bone-white fangs sank deeply into his neck, allowing the taste of salted copper life to flow. His body jerked in response, only to be held fast in her grip.

/Don't worry 'bout the fires/

/Don't worry 'bout the flood/

There was ecstasy in feeding, in the hunt, in the night. It drained into her from a beating heart. She could have fed until the heart stopped, until the body was cold and the flesh as white as her own. Willpower of eight centuries was all that saved the man's life. Her bottom jaw loosened, his slack body falling away from hers, her eyes closing slowly in the aftertaste of life.

With the uses of a careful finger, the tiny puncture wounds became the single slice of a robbery gone awry. His purse vanished with his assailant, who scaled the side of the building easily as if there had been stairs attached. The man sagged where he had fallen. She spared him one passing glance before she turned away, pulling the hood back up once more over a wavy mass of hair. She licked her lips once and vanished.

/Because Little Lady London waits to drink your blood/

Nothing but silence and a few drops cooling blood remained.