It's amazing how the world holds so many secrets in its heart. They hide in the night with those of us who would rather remain unknown to prying eyes, those whose hearts still beat inside them, who have never looked through our eyes and seen the true beauty of night, who have never felt the full extent of despair, who have felt the icy hand of death and heard the sultry voice of the devil whisper sweet nothings in their ear, coaxing them into the hell that they now accept as life.

Even those who are made of light and love hold secrets darker than those of my kind. They have built their reputations up from lies, malice, and deceit that makes the devil himself seem angelic. Then they have the nerve to call us the evil ones. Maybe I should back track to the history of our kinds, the angels and the demons, and everything in between.

Slowly she turned; ready to face the darkness behind her.

"All I ask is for the revenge that I deserve," she said, her voice full of emotions, "you saw how they slaughtered my brother. I want my revenge! I want the blood of the man who killed him; I want to live off of that blood. That is what I ask of you. I will give you anything in return, do you hear me? Anything!"

She could not make out the face of the one standing behind her; the face was consumed by the darkness that was everywhere. All she saw was a gleam of the darkest black eyes she had ever seen open at her final word.

"Anything that I ask of you, you will give it to me," the voice asked, deeper than any man's voice she had heard before, yet spoken with a tenderness that you always want to trust, but know that you will regret it.

"Yes, just give me my revenge," she whispered.

"No," said the voice, "first, bring me the one who is known as Dominick."

"What do you mean, bring him to you?" she asked, a slight whimper in her voice.

"I mean, I want a pint of his blood in this."

With that, the dark void where this being stood pulled out a silver vial, etched with spells of the dark world around it. She could not read them, but she could feel the evil surrounding it. Her eyes flared.

"What's the catch?" she asked, her voice wavering.

She felt the air change as it smiled.

"Catch," it responded, both sultry and silently, "there is no catch. All I offer is your revenge for one pint of blood. What catch could there possibly be?"

She pondered in silence over this. She could feel the breath of the unknown being on her neck, whispering in her mind that she knew this was the right decision.

"All right," she said, finally, "where can I find this Dominick?"

Laughter filled the air as a whirlwind of air swept around them both, stinking of flesh, blood, and newly wept tears.

Delilah screamed, bringing herself out of the nightmare to which she had allowed her unconscious mind to fall into. Just a dream, just a dream, no agreement, no blood. Blood? Those thoughts raced through Delilah's head. The thing she had dreamed of could not exist, it just couldn't, and what good would a pint of blood do anyone, even if it was the devil himself who asked for it?

Shaking her head she rose from her bed, sweeping her light brown hair back from her ivory face. She froze as her deep blue eyes saw the blood bleeding from the walls, bleeding, bleeding deep crimson onto the once perfect floor. A scream lodged in her throat as she saw a body nailed on the wall. Brown hair swept across his face. Blue eyes that were so much like hers showed the agony and fear that he must have felt as the knife skinned away every inch of his flesh.

Delilah turned away, falling to the floor. Revenge was the only thought that she could muster. She wanted the fiend who had done this to suffer, to feel the utter helplessness that she felt at that very moment. Her fingernails dug into her arms, deeper and deeper until she could think clearly.

"I will have my revenge," she said to herself, and with those words, a glimmer of silver caught her eye.

"Impossible," she whispered.

Delilah's hand shook as she reached out to touch the silver container she had seen in what she had sworn was a dream. Unsteady fingers traced the ancient spells that were carved into the surface of the vial. Her hand tightened, she would have her revenge.