Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Here's a little one-shot I wrote.
He stares at the girl with hair of the color of flames and her skin of white porcelain. Since she wrote in his diary obsessively, it made him stronger and corporeal as she became weakened from him sucking her energy, her life force dry until she collapsed to the floor of the cold moist chamber. It was a shame he thought to himself. She was a fine interesting specimen with intelligence, humor, and what he never cared for: kindness. She lived her life so passionately unlike him it's what he liked about her; her life was so heavenly unlike his, which was a hellish nature. He looked at her mangled body; admiring her red hair which he grew so fond of. He almost regretted what he had done but he tossed that conscience stricken thought aside knowing it had to be done; to finish the work of his great ancestor. However, he couldn't help to think that this flame haired girl won't live this rest of her life. He wondered how she would look like when she was a mature woman he imagined she would be a lovely succulent sight to behold. The image wasn't enough to melt the icy dark heart of the tragic and morbid young boy. He looked away from the young dying girl and waited for his nemesis to come to the deadly chamber.