The cold night air, while smelling wonderful, is bitterly cold. The moon is bright, almost white.

It is late now. Few walk the streets this late at night. But there is the occasional passerby.

Every passing being looks upon this residence with disdain, even disgust. They know who lives here. They know what lives here.

I cannot sleep tonight. Perhaps it is the cold autumn air. Maybe it's something entirely different.

I look at the clock upon the wall. Even in the nearly-perfect darkness, I can see the hands upon it, slowly turning. It is nearly four o'clock; I might as well just not even bother. Not like I even need the sleep.

Filling a pot with water, I set the water upon the stove and start it heating. After it is to a boil, I pour it into a lidded mug and make my tea. I put the top upon the mug, and decide to go to the park.

The park is so enchanting at night. Its beautiful trees look so much more so as silhouettes against the night sky, especially on a clear night such as this. The colors of the leaves are just visible around the edges, giving an almost fiery look to them in the autumn. It is almost enough to warm my heart and, even for a moment, remove the loneliness that has settled deep within it. But nothing will ever be capable of that.

I wander through the park, trying to view it from every angle possible. Every step changes the appearance, even if just in the slightest. But something is wrong. Something is terrible, terribly wrong. I know it. I'm not sure what it is, but it is.

Picking up my pace, I walk towards the direction I can feel the disturbance coming from. I can feel it becoming more and more painful and violent.

I run. I run as fast as possible in the direction I am led. Somebody is being hurt – their body is being destroyed by another. Visions of murder, rape, torture run through my mind.

Without even realizing it, I come upon the cause. A man is on top of a woman, holding her down. Confused, I do nothing.

Then she speaks. "Help me," she sobs, and immediately I know what this man's intentions are. I calmly walk over to him.

"Let her go." Upon my speech, he turns around, a knife in his hand, fresh blood covering the silver blade.

His arm comes down, the knife in his hand. The knife puncures my flesh, but I feel nothing. The man releases the knife in my stomach.

Pulling it out, I toss it aside, and the wound heals almost instantaneously. He looks at me, astonished. Then the magnitude of the situation sets in. I repeat myself. "Let her go."

Whether frozen by stupidity or fear, he does not move.

I pull him up by the neck, grab his arm, and twist it behind his back. His screams almost drown out the sound of his bones shattering. His trance broken, he runs away, afraid of what I might do next.

My next order of business is the young lady. I move toward her. Amazingly, she doesn't run away from me – but that's most likely because of the cut in her chest. I gently rest my hand on her forehead. "It's all right. I'll get you fixed up." She looks at me with total acceptance and lack of fear – something I haven't seen in hundreds of years. Gently placing my arms under her, I pick her up and begin to walk back to the house.

Sunrise was especially beautiful that morning. I don't know why, it just was.