He watches her from her garden.
He sees her through her window, pacing around her room, looking deep in thought.
She looks so pretty, the way the light is making her skin glow.
Her blood smells so good. He smells it, the gentle breeze pulling it through the open window.
But no.
So beautiful.
He wants her.
He loves her.
No. It would never work out.
He sighs softly, angrily, frustrated. Infatuated.
He turns and runs between the houses, wishing to be as far from her as possible, longing to be by her side.