A/N: This is just a prologue. It's based on twilight and involves some characters, though they may not be named at first. It's a concept I'm really proud of, though I won't reveal more now. I know the prologue isn't much to go on, but I would be incredibly happy if you'll review! :)

Prlogue

The night tasted of copper and salt.

The man opened his eyes, squinting as a bright light jabbed at him, knife-like. Peering through the brilliant haze, he saw the wavering outline of crescent moon, blinding against the ebony sky.

He stood up and licked his dry lips, tasting the barest traces of a strangely sweet saltiness; He could almost place the flavor. It teased his taste buds, foreign, and yet oddly familiar, but the more he tried to recognize it, the more elusive it seemed to become.

He looked down, away from the silver radiance of the waning moon, his brow furrowed in thought. An inky blot in the graying night drew his downcast eyes, and the smell hit him almost instantly. It tantalized him with a sickening lure, and all at once he knew what it was: human blood.

He hastily backed away, oddly surefooted, appalled by how undeniably appealing he found the sight, scent, and most of all taste of blood. His retreat continued, his steps unfaltering, until he felt solid stone at his back. He had reached a dead end.

Hands groping blindly, he searched for an end to the barrier, desperate to escape the sudden sense of dread that seeped into his bones. Was it just his imagination, or was the air suddenly colder? The temperature seemed to have dropped at least fifteen degrees, and a growing sense of terrible evil shrouded his mind. He had been wondering what could have caused the small pool of blood, and for the first time, a chilling certainty arose; it had not been an accident.

A second, much more terrifying thought suddenly occurred. The attacker was still nearby, he could feel it. An oppressive, undefinable wrongness lay over the alley. It left no visible telltale traces, but instinct screamed louder than reason, warning him. A palpable miasma of vile power blanketed the area in its slimy embrace.

He sat, huddled in that tainted night for what seemed like hours too terrified to risk movement for fear of attracting the demonic presence that lingered in the dead night air.

Gradually, he roused himself, realizing that the only path to freedom lay in the direction he had come from. Resigned, he walked slowly, his steps tentative, ready to flee at the slightest sound. The sense of dread increased with each step, nearly preventing him from going farther. Nevertheless, he continued on, determined to be free of his fear, allowing not even instinct to hamper his path to safety. He knew that safety was relative though, for who could be truly safe in a world where such great evil lurked?

His gaze darted frantically, scanning the shadows for any possible threat. He was so intent upon his fruitless search that he didn't notice the obstacle in his way until he stumbled over it. He looked back, shivering as a sharp breeze sliced through his damp clothing, wishing that the night wasn't so cold. The woman on the ground in front of him however, had no such qualms. A little chill was no bother to the dead.

She stared fixedly at the sky, her once clean dress bloodstained, dark hair splayed on the muddy ground. A silver pendant rested in the hollow where her throat used to be, blood slowly obscuring the once bright metal.

He moved closer, morbid curiosity drawing him in, and hesitantly brushed her hand, which held only the barest warmth. He recoiled, shuddering with disgust, although he couldn't deny a strange rush of…thirst that he felt. It ebbed, then returned just as strongly, almost like a heartbeat. Animal longing replaced disgust, only to surrender to it at the next wave. A gravelly voice whispered in his head, her blood's still warm. He shook his head as if to rid himself from the nauseating idea.

He quickly stood up, noticing for the first time that his hand seemed unnaturally pale, even more colorless than the corpse's. It almost appeared to glitter in the moonlight. Figuring it nothing more than a trick of the light, he dismissed it, after all, what kind of person glittered?

He turned his back on the grisly sight, wanting nothing more than to go home. The police were sure to find this victim, so there was no point in even reporting the body. He wanted nothing more than to go home, although he had no idea where 'home' was. He started to walk out of the alley, certain that clean air would jog his memory, but a crowd stopped him.

Even in the dim light, he could see that they looked angry, furious even. A small voice arose from the center of the group,

"It's him! He killed her! He ripped her throat out!"

The bright beams of flashlights stabbed his eyes, harshly illuminating the mauled body at his feet.

"Wait, what do you mean?" he shrieked. "I didn't do anything, she was like this when I found her!"

They said nothing, but he found the one who had originally spoken, a wizened old woman in the center of the group, who tried unsuccessfully to hide the fear in her eyes. As he locked eyes with her, images that were not his own appeared in his mind.

A tall figure lurked in darkness just beyond the mouth of the alley, a shadow made discernible only by his glowing eyes. The woman walked by, oblivious, intent only on seeking shelter from the biting air. Without warning, the shadow came to life, hands that seemed to glitter reaching out to catch her in a violent embrace and drag her back into the unnatural dark.

The victim had no chance to scream before the shadow's elongated canines sank into her neck, cutting off all noise as it tore her throat out. It lifted its head, teeth dimly glinting through a coating of blood, its unnatural eyes meeting his. A sudden shaft of moonlight illuminated a face that was terrifyingly familiar, and he opened his mouth to scream.

He stood, frozen in horror, mouth agape, but unable to scream. The murderous crowd closed in, but he would do nothing to stop them. His last moments would be spent reliving the horror of seeing his own face contorted in bloodlust and dripping crimson when he had taken another's life.