A pale alabaster hand traced idly over invisible patterns hidden within the silver pool of the mirror that sat tauntingly upon an ancient carved oak dresser. The white digits caressed unseen angles and imaginary curves, contours of a face that would never be seen again. The lily appendage suddenly stopped in its ministrations, colliding sharply with the fragile glass and watching it shatter into jagged, undefined fragments. Cold lips, white as the hand smiled triumphantly as eyes the color of new blood watched the melee of chaos that had been created. The violating hand moved up to the ivory mouth and was licked clean of offending blood and glass carefully.

Ruby orbs remained focused on the shattered mirror and the once smiling face frowned, but the owner could see none of it. Slowly, a bloody tear fell down that alabaster expanse of cheek in frustration. The creature stood sharply, fists clenched in helpless anger as it stalked out the door of the old apartment and into the bustling city streets. Its plan had failed, through all the years of existence, Sanguine Owens had forgotten what he looked like. People told the vampire how lovely he was, but that was a relative term compared to the truth he sought in the unresponsive mirrors. This time he thought that perhaps, if he had rent the mirror to pieces and shredded it into nothingness, to a state that resembled his tattered soul, it might reveal his face once again.

Oh yes, the vampire knew many things about his appearance, he was 5'6, thin, his hair was long and silky, the color of obsidian, and his skin was lily white, but oh to see his face again! He ran a glove-covered hand over his cheek, feeling its soft, alluring curve, but wishing so badly to see it. A finger passed over his right eye, were they still as crimson as they had been thirty years ago? Or had they become the color of flax like when he was human? Sanguine felt the cool night air waft over his skin through the long-sleeved black mesh shirt he wore, weaving inside of his trenchcoat to lave over his chest, brushing over his slender face.

The vampire sighed deeply and stopped to regard an antique shop window the housed a large looking glass. As he watched, it reflected the groups of people who walked by in the distance, but he who stood right in front of it? Nothing, nothing but cold unyielding glass. So much like the march of time this symbolism was, the humans passed right by, while he was left behind, unnoticed and unwanted by reality.

Many people had been convinced that Guine was narcissistic in his obsession, but he was merely curious on a scientific level. How could one exist without being acknowledged by even the most basic physical principles? Or was it simply that he didn't exist? That he was just a figment of a man long dead still walking the human realm in denial? A shadow.

Yes, that was surely it, a shadow. A shadow of times and people long past, like a memory, unchanged by time or space. Surviving in the now by stealing the souls of others, making them walk the long shadow path as well. The same could be said of all vampires really. Sanguine nodded to himself as he began the short walk back home, satisfied with his logic, he cast no shadow as he walked. This solidified his knowledge, shadows didn't cast shadows, had no reflections, were not even cared about. Most of all, a shadow had no soul.

Authors Ramblings:

Wheee, I'm sure everyone's glad to see me again! :*listens to cricket chirps* Or not. Only one note about the story this time. For anyone who is curious, Guine is pronounced GWEN not GWINE. Thankyou for your time.