It was almost cruel just how quick the day seemed to recede away, stepping off the stage on behalf of the slow encroaching night. She had but barely spent much time on, the sheer number of people whom had taken to the streets being nothing short of impressive, if not intimidating even. They moved in uniformity like a sea’s waves as they crashed against the heavy set cliffs, one almost forced to move with them despite the allure that any given stall may have had. Baubles, gems, intriguing goods forged of metals that seemed to reflect the warm colors that had begun to cast over the skies above like the first draft to a painter’s masterpiece; their colors and arrangement enough to entrance plenty of passerby’s into breaking from the flow. They pushed through, admired a trinket or two, perhaps following a brief exchange of jewels secured said trinket away and went on with their business, back into the wave of commerce and merriment.

For most, it was a thing of routine. Cruelly efficient in not only itself but also the people who played to it as well. Save for the pale woman with the indigo hair and eyes as intense as a pair of amethyst gems themselves, who stood there, head shifting from side to side with as much certainty as to where to go next like that of a child left abandoned by a parent. Within the middle of the road she stood there, no place in particular that she had given herself reason to visit or tend to, no place where she had to go to.

She was just simply there. A woman lost, without any clear idea of where to go next. Moreso, a woman without any clear idea of where she were in the first place.

It had not been for any reason that she found herself here. Rather, she simply found herself proceeding down a given road, following it until she happened upon civilization. A fortunate happening of events really, with such allure and fanfare towards the coming Hallows End, a festivity that seemed to envelope the city and its people. She admittedly could not help but find herself curious as to all of this, talks of this Hallows End being simply sounding almost alien. Intriguing perhaps, but what interest may have settled within her were stripped from her as the wave motioned again, a nameless figure walking into her as the force and suddenness of it all nearly robbed her of her balance.

It would not have been difficult to accomplish such a feat, so much of her attention and focus split in all directions. The people around her left her uneasy, the sounds of the commotion and celebration being a constant cacophony that seemed to go without end, and the smells… Oh how the smells taunted the young Isobele; her mind struggling to separate away the scents that were alien to her yet native to these festivities from those of the people that motioned constantly around, their scents lingering within the air, as she desperately tried to separate them apart. Amongst the foods, odors, and all other smells that lined throughout the street, one stood out to her. An almost homely type of scent.

Blood.

She thought that she had smelled such a delicacy. Poor in quality, all things considered, compared to what she had once had the delight of enjoying over the near century, but it would do. Blood had become an unexpected rarity for her, to the point that the idea of going to extreme lengths were far from outside of the realistic for her.

But it had been days now since she last fed. Her body was weak, her mind struggling – an ordeal made no easier by the overwhelming myriad of sensations that flooded her. That she was able to skewer the scent of blood from everything around her should perhaps have been thought of as nothing less than a miracle, if one could ever be said towards the Nerach.

As if compelled she pushed forward, blindly following the scent as she moved with the crowd, at times even pacing ahead as she moved mission-driven while they moved along with the flow of things. A complete disconnect between them and her, most of them having not a single care of what or where they were going next while she had only one thought on her mind.

The closer she moved forward, the stronger the scent was, the more diluted, impure she came to realize it was. But a beggar could not be a chooser. It was blood, and to find something of that sort within this kind of environment, it was far greater than what she could have possibly imagined it being. Yet the good fortune only held so much weight as her eyes suddenly dawned then upon the stall, pieces of meat hung upon hooks, droplets of blood descending down into small puddles formed upon the wooden counter. It was a poor presentation, even from the perspective of the shop keeps; a rushed display in hopes of passing along second-rate goods. It was hardly an uncommon thing, but for something like meats – particularly those of the quality presented – there would be few whom would want anything to be associated with.

That didn’t much matter to Isobele, looking on at one piece in particular – a deeply red piece of meat, the creature of origin unclear by the looks and likely neither known by the man whom seemed less than interested in it and far more intrigued at the lovely, if not strange woman whom had approached his otherwise silent stall. “You seem quite taken by that ribeye miss.” His words were hoarse, making his age seem far older than that of what his image conveyed. Tired eyes further observed Isobele then peered to the side catching a quick glance at the creature that sat just atop her shoulder. “Strange-looking cat you got there. Doesn’t look like something that could eat a piece of meat of this size…” If not for the amethyst eyes that briefly glanced over to him after finally separating from the large hunk of meat he likely would not have given a second thought as to the creature. “B-b-but, I think I should have something that’s more… fitting… to its size.”

As poorly discreet as he attempted to be, the Nerach Vampire could not help but catch a faint glimpse of the man reaching his hand within a small barrel behind him, all sorts of meat seeming to have been piled up within it. Ligaments, bones, skins, trimmings, any and every piece of refuse that could have been upon a piece of meat as much piled on with them. A few more moments of being “discrete” and the man turned back to the unlikely pair, holding a small leather-wrapped bag – arguably nicer in quality and looks than much else of what he had to offer – with an almost gory smell coming out from it. The cat glanced down at the bag for a moment, eyes narrowing as it looked back up at the merchant, though any further attention would no longer be upon it but rather Isobele instead.

“H-how… much?” Her words were hoarse, drowned out by the sound of the crowd around them, having only seemed to become more alive as the sky continued to glow with warm colors.

“Excuse me,” the man asked again now leaning forward, holding his breath in hopes of avoiding taking in the scent of the meat all around him.

“How much,” Isobele spoke up, her eyes looking almost in utter rapture towards the piece of meat. She would have it, that much was clear to her now.

The man looked at her, then towards the meat. A snicker appeared upon his face, thinking himself having secured a great deal. But then there were a whiff in the air, the scent of meat rushing into his face, utterly shattering whatever bravado he may have once had. “I tell ya what. I wouldn’t typically do this, but it seems kinda clear that you be wanting that meat.” He leaned back, folding his arms, “I’ma let you take it. No charge.”

Isobele could hardly believe what she were hearing, the excitement almost too much to contain. Almost in disbelief, she began to reach for the large piece of meat, half-expecting the man to renege and the hand to come down violently upon her outstretched limbs.

But the hostile response never came. Even as cold fingers gripped along the raw meat, faint bits of blood beginning to stain otherwise pale skin, there never came any response from the man, save for perhaps disgust.

She continued while he watched. The feline creature upon her shoulder carried out its own movement, taking hold of the small bag that otherwise had been left unattended upon the stall. Clutching it tightly, it treated it special much like how she chose to look upon the meat, just where it came from, what animal it may have been utterly irrelevant to her.

All Isobele wanted in the immediate moment was the taste of blood, something that she as much hated but felt compelled to indulge in. So much so that in nearly the same rate at which she had found herself so singularly approaching the stall, too had she left. Disappearing behind the stall, not bothering to entertain the idea of manuevering through the unforgiving seas of man. No, there was privacy in the back alleys, a sort of assurance that what they did within the shadows would be of their own knowledge and seldom few else’s.

A bit of distance away, a short time later wherein only the occasional spec of blood upon the ground could have further marked down her trail, she finally knelt down with relief. The feast was finally upon her.

Paying no heed to the smell, Isobele bit deep within the meat, blood pooling, some of it staining her face, hands, and clothes, but so much entering within her mouth, providing her with something special. Euphoric even.

Elation.

Sustenance.

But even with that there came something else as well.

Shame.

Disgust.

The urge overwhelming, it took a moment before she had finally realized her situation, kneeling down against a cold wall in within a dark alley of some nondescript city, feasting upon a large, rancid piece of meat as though there it were a grand buffet.

Still starving, still intent upon dining on the blood that remained within the carcass, she could not help but look with great disappointment. With great disgust and hatred towards herself.

In what world could she have imagined this being something acceptable? In what world could she have utterly hoped that she were not looked upon as a sort of monster?

Given her current situation, she was without an answer to that.