She didn't know why she cried; what was left of her mind supposed that it was habit. Habit and the thing that lay just beyond the thick, heavy smoky veil that surrounded strange images, bright ones. The very thought of so much light made her growl softly. The strange, white material that covered her tore as she crossed her fingers, her claws, over it and let out a soft moan. No matter what she did, the strange images always returned.
"Aaron! Honey!" Her hands were normal and perfectly manicured, and together a man and her stood in the nursery. It was late at night: the moon shining through the window showed that. Her little Mark was curled up into a ball in his crib, sucking on his thumb. Despite all the strange CDC news that had been circulating around the office lately, she wasn't worried. Everything had worked out well for months, and, as long as she stayed out of the way of anyone ill, she and the rest of her family should be fine. Aaron placed his arm around her shoulder and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I think the baby's asleep, hon. Should we take the rest of tonight to bed?" She giggled a little and stood on her toes in order to give him a light peck on the cheek. "Sure."
For some reason, these images gave her a warm feeling. It was strange, so different from the eternal cold that had sunk within her bones, that she enjoyed it. It caused a prickling that was almost painful, but at least it was some feeling. Anything before that image was vague and blurry, and only the ones after that were clear enough for her to see. If only she could comprehend them; they were torturing her, laughing at her, prodding her to cry and scream, since they caused so much pain. Yet they were still foreign items.
"Alright, get him into a choke hold!" the instructor cried. She wrapped an arm around her training partner and tightened her grip. He mumbled something and pulled at her arm. It was futile, as the several years of training and earning the highest level in Krav Maga had certainly helped. The training drills continued for a time until the instructor called for a break. As always, she collapsed on the nearest bench and reached for her water bottle, effectively draining nearly a quarter of its contents. The smell of sweat and exhaustion filled her nose and she sighed, breathing it in. The serenity lasted less than a minute, as a group of high-pitched screams suddenly floated in through one of the open windows. Before anyone could turn around, the window crashed open and human forms flooded through. Before she could stand up or do anything, teeth sunk into her shoulder. With a yell she elbowed the attacker in the face. Nothing happened. How could that be possible? With a clicking noise, the instructor reappeared with a shotgun. He blew off the head of the attacking things and then began working on the rest. It took less than ten minutes before the things were exterminated. Their corpses lay on the ground, blood saturating into the training mat.
The thought of so much blood in one place made her nostrils flare and her whole body tense. That beautiful crimson color that came whenever the noisy, bright ones appeared. Even as the euphoria of such a thing didn't stop the droplets of salt water dripping down from her eyes, falling off of her nose and hitting the ground. A puddle had slowly started to form; she hadn't moved from this very spot in weeks. The visions had immobilized her, and the prospect of finding the source had grounded her as well.
It was night, and she stared at the back of Aaron's head. She had wrapped up the bite in some bandages, even though the damned thing still stung. Eventually, her arm began to ache so much that she retired to the bathroom in order to find some aspirin. She popped open the bottle and settled on the edge of the bathtub, only to have a jolt of pain knock her backwards, more out of surprise than actual pain, and a crack sounded as her head hit the tiles.
That crack made her think of the many bones that had broken as she had jumped upon her prey, and their exclamations of horror, surprise, or elation at being able to kill her. None had succeeded, obviously.
Her eyes slowly opened. A yell made her jump up in surprise, although she immediately stumbled. Her legs seemed to be limp and useless. Something scraped along the floor as she bent over, and she was surprised to find that her nails were no longer perfect. They were long and tinged black and-
"Honey?" a man that made her think of a word, Aaron, appeared in the doorway. His mouth dropped open and he mouthed something wordlessly. She could almost see the blood pumping through him. There was nothing but action. She leapt at him and her claws sunk deep into his chest. She worked one hand upwards, towards his neck and head, while using the other to keep his twitching form subdued. It was so quick, so clean as the spurt of blood from his neck sprayed across her face. The silence was nice for a few hours. Then high-pitched cries made her wince and growl. Even growling didn't shut the source up, and she tottered over to a door. Behind it, the screams continued. It was easy to burst through the flimsy wood, and she slowly made her way to a high wooden cradle, within which was a tiny, screaming form, its mouth wide open. A clawed hand lifted up and then crashed down on the little form's skull. The screaming stopped as soon as her claws withdrew, stained a permanent red.
All that led to the present day. The present day, she supposed, that had been going on for weeks. Occasionally other forms, covered with their own veil, wandered into the house, their slow footsteps causing her to wince. But none had intruded in the room where she had killed the little survivor, and several other corpses already surrounded her: a team of bright forms who had tried to disturb her quiet crying.
Nothing helped, not the spilling of blood, not the crying: there was always those images, those strange visions, the meaning just beyond her reach.