Dreams
When she sleeps (dies again), hiding from the sunlight that graces the living, she dreams. Half-formed images, really, of hunting something, anything, and chasing it until it yields and she takes its life (death) and gorges herself upon its mortality.
It is then that she wakes from Death's icy embrace to Death's frigid gaze, fangs bared, eyes the cold feral blue of that thing which lurks beyond herself, the thing that lives (dies) for the hunt and the slow death of the quarry. But, every time, she fends off the thing, which brings bloodlust and remembers nothing of the dream.
For what dreams does Death bring?
(Behold the first author's note! Anyway, many thanks to Lady K2 and Drewthewolf, for your kind words are much appreciated. I will be posting as soon as I can, and if you feel like reviewing, please do so. Please. Peace out, make love not war, and keep it groovy! -Coopers McFarley, signing out)