There was no one around to hear the humming as she wandered from the kitchen to the living room, dragging her bare feet against the dusty floor. It felt pleasantly soft against her feet, the dust creating a kind of cushion that also allowed her to slide along the wooden floor; which was exactly what she did. Her feet swirled over the dust as she turned around, falling onto the old couch on her back, letting out a content sigh. The sun trickled through the still clean spots on the cracked windows, making the grey natural carpet on the floor stand out even more. Lint and dust bunnies from years of neglect swirled up into the air, causing her to sneeze as they tickled the inside of her nose. Rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand, she lazily threw out her free arm to feel over the coffee table.

Magazine, spoon, broken cup.. Book.

Grabbing the book and opening it, she began to read. Not being human meant that her arms didn't get tired from holding the book up, which was just as well. It was a dusty old tome about all kinds of pagan gods and goddesses. There was information about rituals and how to capture them, even how to kill them. It seemed like each god was killed in a different, usually most intricate way. It was a good read, there was always something she'd missed, and that's what she enjoyed about these kinds of books. No matter how many times she'd read them, she'd learn something new.

Not that she'd ever have any use of the information, oh no. The only reason she had these books were that they had been left behind by the previous owner of the cottage. A hunter, she believed they were called. A human which hunts anything inhuman. Which technically included her, but that was another thing entirely. She'd never chow down on anybody's entrails or curse anyone.

After a couple of hours, she put the book down, pushing herself up to sit. Her dull, light brown hair was a tangled mess, as it became every time she put her head in the couch for a longer period of time. Her hand even got stuck in it as she tried to run her fingers through, which prompted her to go get her hair brushed. Her teeth too, while she was at it. Might as well look decent, going into town.

She had a couple of towns to choose from whenever she decided to leave her warded haven. Pulling on a plaid shirt in a man's model, she headed out into the forest, following what was left of the dirt road leading up to the house. Her jeans were torn, but at least those were of the female model.

The townspeople had gotten somewhat used to this girl who came wandering with no shoes on. Of course, most still steered clear, but she didn't mind. Humans were such fickle creatures, even more skittish than her own kind. And that was saying something.

"Ey there Amy! Out on the road again, are we?" Roy was one of the few who actually always talked to her. Now, her name wasn't actually Amy, but people had always looked rather confused with her actual name, Amana. Amana simply nodded with a smile, skipping across the street to greet him.

"Sure am! Thought I'd pick up some groceries." Roy was the towns' best friend, sort of. He knew everybody and everybody knew him. He was the owner of the grocery store, the only one in the little town, which might explain just why everybody knew him. Amana liked this place, it was safe. People here were so friendly that Roy could usually spend most of the day out front on the street, chatting with people as they came by.

"By groceries, I suppose you mean pastries and fruits? Girl, if I had a penny for each time I wondered how the heck you can eat all that and be as skinny as a stick, I'd be a rich man." Humans enjoyed imagining themselves being rich, which Amana always found so oddly fascinating. She'd seen her fair share of rich people, and they never seemed to be the ones who felt like they had it all.

"If I was as skinny as a stick I'd most likely be dead, Roy." She spoke with a smile and truth in her voice. Metaphors and imagery weren't her strong suit, but most people took her honest comments as a bit of a morbid joke. Today wasn't any different; her words got a raspy chuckle out of the man.

"Alright, well, say hello to Mrs Wellsworth when you get there." He grinned one of those crooked, yet friendly grins of his. His teeth were stained for chewing tobacco for most of his life, something that Amana couldn't understand why humans did. Did they not realize it was poison?

Mrs Wellsworth wasn't too thrilled to see her. Amana knew exactly what the woman thought of her, but she didn't mind. Mrs Wellsworth would do her best to smile and be polite, although the exterior that would fool many hardly impressed her. But then again, she did have a natural ability to see these kinds of things.

The visit to the bakery was short and concise, just how she liked it. Making her way over to the towns square, she sat down by the fountain to enjoy her newly purchased goods. Carrot cakes and Danish pastries with jam, two of her personal favourites.

Then it hit her. The sensation struck like that of a nightmare, making her gut stir unpleasantly. It barely took a second for her to get up, heading straight across the square, leaving her bag of treats behind, half eaten. Like electricity running through her body the sensation made her skin crawl. It had been so long since she'd felt this. Why had she dared to pray for it to stay that way?

Taking a sharp turn, her instinctive path was eventually rendered superfluous as the gasps and shrieks of the locals were more than enough to guide her, their terrified voices shifting her walk into a jog.

Blood. So much blood. Despite the daylight and the streets busy with people, a woman was gasping for air on the ground, clutching her neck in desperation. She was trying to speak but all she did was gurgle, choking on her own blood. Amana took a step back, staring at the woman. She had been attacked, but she was still alive, despite of her throat being partially ripped out. People were flocking around her, shouting at each other to call the sheriff and the hospital. Amana took a deep breath, sneaking closer and melting in with the crowd to get closer to the woman.

If I just can reach her foot..

Chewing on her lip subconsciously, Amana sat down on her knees among the many legs of the locals. Pulling off a black scarf, she tied it around her forehead before discretely reaching out, only barely managing to touch the woman's foot. In the commotion, no one seemed to notice. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. There was a light behind her eyelids, and the scarf was doing its job of keeping the light from her forehead from catching attention. She couldn't do much about the glow in her hand, but thanks to the bright daylight and the white nature of the glow, no one seemed to notice.

Suddenly, the woman let out the cry she had been trying to let out ever since she was attacked, and that was the signal for Amana to retreat. She did so hurriedly, pulling off her scarf to tie it around her neck again before running off into the alley, the same way she came.

There was a fading murmur of confused locals as she got further and further away from them, and the next day, the story would make it to the front page.

"Woman mysteriously attacked, saved by a miracle."