Sydney Vartan was a supposedly normal, thought-she-was-plain-looking but really was very exotic-come-get-me-looking, and beyond intelligent. At nineteen, she had the body of a model and the face of a goddess, one no man would ever be able to forget. But this beautiful girl loved to wear bohemian-styled clothes, button-up shirts, and flip-flops. She usually wore her hair up, but when she let it down it flowed down her back in a mass of shiny, dark red waves. She had the greenest eyes, and olive skin. She never wore very much make up either, only earthy tones.
She lived in a small apartment in downtown Chicago, and worked in a rather-large studio that sold rare art and collectible weaponry. A rather odd mix, but the business did well and paid well. Not to mention she enjoyed working there.
She also had no idea she was being watched..
The tall, slender figure pushed his hands deeper into the black trench coat's pockets and blew out a breath. He was starving. His short, messy black hair along with the small goatee he was trying this century gave him an artsy look, and his British accent made him sound wise, intelligent. He was gorgeous, more than pleasing to the eye. He had a wide, blue eyes and always looked as if he had shimmery brown-gray eye shadow surrounding his eyes... It was shimmery, and made people wonder.
(A/N: Think Lestat from Queen of the Damned)
The skin on his face was pale but tan; perfect skin; and a lean, muscular body added to the appeal. This night, he wore a black turtleneck over black slacks and a trench coat, his normal apparel.
His breath came out in white spurts and he walked down the street. He had just come outside, from his warm penthouse in the heart of Chicago, and already he was freezing. His skin was colder than usual, and his pulse was going low. He was so hungry, starving... But he hadn't found the right victim yet.
Sydney locked the door to the shop behind her, and closed the gates. Wrapping her black peacoat around her and folding her arms, her long legs instantly had goosebumps running along them. She knew she shouldn't have worn this skirt today, even though it was her favorite. With an odd print fabric and purple draw string with beads on the ends... What not to love?
She began walking down the street, the heels of the studious black shoes she had worn that day clicked on the cement. The sound echoed along the empty street. She suddenly felt as if she were being watched, and began to walk faster. When she got to her building, she unlocked the door and ran up the stairs and didn't stop until she was to her door. She looked left, right, and then down the stairs, and then sighed. She let herself into the apartment, and relaxed. Turning on the lights, she threw her keys down on the shiny, cherry desk that she had found at an antique store a year earlier. Although she had no where to put it, all of her furniture was mix-matched anyway, she put it near the door to have easier access to things she needed and couldn't lose.
Sydney took off her coat, and placed it on a peg that was above the desk. She clicked the answering machine, and listened to messages from her friends about parties, concerts, and things she might be interested in as she took off her shoes. She noticed that the feeling she was being watched still didn't leave her.
When the messages were done, she went into the living room, which was separated from the entrance by a wall decorated in framed black-and-white art, and looked around. It was a huge living room, and she was lucky to have it. She had over stuffed striped-chairs and a sofa under the window with an old beach wood coffee table in front of it. There was a dining room of to the left, and swinging doors that separated the kitchen. It was a nice apartment, a very nice building altogether, and she felt blessed. She loved her home.
But now she felt awkward... She didn't like being watched, or even having the feeling. What was it?
She lived in a small apartment in downtown Chicago, and worked in a rather-large studio that sold rare art and collectible weaponry. A rather odd mix, but the business did well and paid well. Not to mention she enjoyed working there.
She also had no idea she was being watched..
The tall, slender figure pushed his hands deeper into the black trench coat's pockets and blew out a breath. He was starving. His short, messy black hair along with the small goatee he was trying this century gave him an artsy look, and his British accent made him sound wise, intelligent. He was gorgeous, more than pleasing to the eye. He had a wide, blue eyes and always looked as if he had shimmery brown-gray eye shadow surrounding his eyes... It was shimmery, and made people wonder.
(A/N: Think Lestat from Queen of the Damned)
The skin on his face was pale but tan; perfect skin; and a lean, muscular body added to the appeal. This night, he wore a black turtleneck over black slacks and a trench coat, his normal apparel.
His breath came out in white spurts and he walked down the street. He had just come outside, from his warm penthouse in the heart of Chicago, and already he was freezing. His skin was colder than usual, and his pulse was going low. He was so hungry, starving... But he hadn't found the right victim yet.
Sydney locked the door to the shop behind her, and closed the gates. Wrapping her black peacoat around her and folding her arms, her long legs instantly had goosebumps running along them. She knew she shouldn't have worn this skirt today, even though it was her favorite. With an odd print fabric and purple draw string with beads on the ends... What not to love?
She began walking down the street, the heels of the studious black shoes she had worn that day clicked on the cement. The sound echoed along the empty street. She suddenly felt as if she were being watched, and began to walk faster. When she got to her building, she unlocked the door and ran up the stairs and didn't stop until she was to her door. She looked left, right, and then down the stairs, and then sighed. She let herself into the apartment, and relaxed. Turning on the lights, she threw her keys down on the shiny, cherry desk that she had found at an antique store a year earlier. Although she had no where to put it, all of her furniture was mix-matched anyway, she put it near the door to have easier access to things she needed and couldn't lose.
Sydney took off her coat, and placed it on a peg that was above the desk. She clicked the answering machine, and listened to messages from her friends about parties, concerts, and things she might be interested in as she took off her shoes. She noticed that the feeling she was being watched still didn't leave her.
When the messages were done, she went into the living room, which was separated from the entrance by a wall decorated in framed black-and-white art, and looked around. It was a huge living room, and she was lucky to have it. She had over stuffed striped-chairs and a sofa under the window with an old beach wood coffee table in front of it. There was a dining room of to the left, and swinging doors that separated the kitchen. It was a nice apartment, a very nice building altogether, and she felt blessed. She loved her home.
But now she felt awkward... She didn't like being watched, or even having the feeling. What was it?