The man ran frantically through the dark tunnels, his watery blue eyes darting to and fro his dark hair sweaty and matted, his suntanned skin pale with fear. He clutched something so desperately in his fist, his knuckles were death white. The item appeared to be a clay cross, glazed blue, but so misshapen is seemed to have been made by a small child. It hung from a string of sapphire colored beads, which clinked with every jerky step he took. His breathing was heavy, sobs ripping his throat every time he stumbled.
A beast followed him. It's eyes were blood red, glowing in the dark, damp and dripping tunnel. The man slammed into a wall, dirt and dust tumbling into his hair and eyes. He cried out, and looked pleadingly towards the beast, who didn't look much like a beast anymore. It was a woman – no more than mere woman – with long blond hair that fell in waves down her back, pulled away by little blue hair clips, to reveal the long, white dress that clung to her body in the right places. Surprisingly, the pure white thing had o mud on it, as if the thing hadn't even traversed through these filthy tunnels for the last half hour. It was a wedding dress. Recognition flickered in the mans eyes. "Rose?" he breathed.
A hysterical, shriek like laugh escaped the woman's lips.
"Oh, John." She giggled. "I am as lovely as those Georgia peached of yours, now?"
She didn't wait for an answer, instead pouncing at the cowering man.
The cross fell to the floor with a clatter.
Seventy-six years later the woman-beast sat in a big house, on a pure white couch, the little misshaped, blue glazed cross held in her hand. The string of beads had broken decades ago, but the little cross had always stayed with her, housed in a small blue velvet box.
"Rose?" the call echoed through the high ceilings of the house.
She placed the cross in it's box, hiding it on the top shelf of a closet. The beast called Rose then strode gracefully from the room, her long blond hair flowing elegantly behind her.