Alec
Autumn had settled in over our olden land.
I found my dear sister resting on the roof of the tallest tower that the fortress had in the late afternoon.
"What are you looking at up here, Janie? I thought you were hunting."
"The trees. They look like fire." She was referring to the rich scenery stretching out before us; all the reds and golds claiming village leaves, the bright colors—the setting sun hit the treetops just at the right angle. "But not the dangerous type of wildfire that destroys everything. The trees look calmer and simply alit, like they're—"
Knowing her mind as well as I did, I instantly saw what she meant. "Torches," I filled in for her.
"Yes, like torches."
A few months later, Jane was sitting on the roof of the eastern tower once again, staring ahead.
She looked like a beautiful, elegantly-dressed porcelain statue against the backdrop behind her which was actually the bright grey sky.
I flashed forward and perched beside her.
We both willingly sat in stillness and serenity, watching the snow gently fell in little innocent flurries upon this quiet morning, until our eyes turned dark hours later and I could practically feel my sister's inner thirst radiating off my own.
And with a leap, one scream, and two quick bites, the fresh white plane below our feet soon ran red.