The rest of that day was not uneventful, but it seemed that way in comparison to Parvatio's "final warning.'…and the man in the alleyway. He was the most interesting by far. Not just for that day either, but my entire life. Up until the moment our eyes had met, it now seemed boring and utterly empty. I had never felt that way about it before, but it was an unavoidable reality that that glimpse had offered me a look at the fact that there was something more –much more- out there.

Thoughts such as these pooled in my mind the rest of that day, creating a sort of cloud over perception of everything else. Nothing I did seemed to work out, I couldn't write, couldn't paint, and was absentminded with customers. I felt inadequate and irresponsible, wonderful and special, confused and perplexed, amazed and dazzled, but more than anything, I was dissatisfied. It was an unfamiliar emotion, but I recognized it immediately, and eventually, I decided that I must have felt this way for a long time without realizing it.

And so, before I really even knew what was happening, the day had ended, and my shroud of solitude seemed even thicker as I packed up my things and left, walking much slower than usual. At some point, my eyes relayed the information to my brain that it was quite dark, I'd stayed out much later than usual. Slowly, I emerged out of my deep pondering state as fear began to overcome me. On its best (but few) bright and sunny days, London could be a dangerous place, one full of vandals and brigands and drunkards. And this was not even a murky London day, it was a pitch-black night, even the last of the lamps had been snuffed out. How could I have let this happen?! Been so absentminded…I thoroughly blamed the strange man in the mouth of the alleyway, though there wasn't much I would trade for that single second I'd seen him. I eyed the cobblestones below my feet, I'd never thought of myself as a desperate woman, but it was the first word that came to my mind in my vast writers' vocabulary. What on earth had he done to me?

I clutched my notebook to my chest, suddenly wishing I had not sold all my paintings and had more to pace between myself and whatever awaited in the darkness than this thin sheaf of pages, which seemed like little compared to the various things y imagination was conjuring up to wait for me between where I was and home.

Out of nowhere, a heavy rain descended upon the already ominous night, and this was the only reason I walked faster across the street.

At this point, I'd made it into the alley, the alley, the one that would lead me home, the one where he'd been. Somehow, I felt safer. I could see everything in the small cramped space, there were no unexplained movements or concealing shadows, and I was that much closer to home. Only a small jump lay between my front door and me once I made it the length of the alley. I encouraged myself in this way, gaining more and more courage as I continued. It was the least I'd thought about him all day. Perhaps by the morning, I'd come to my senses and forget I'd ever seen him. Not likely, but still, a chance was there. Oh, who was I kidding? I could never forget him…never in a hundred lifetimes would his eyes, his stare, his very posture and elegance and dazzling charm leave my memory. So, was I doomed to be miserable the rest of my life? Always know there was something out there it was possible to have –to love- that I didn't? I hung my head, the feelings I'd been having that day made it disturbingly easy to believe that I very well could spend the rest of my life pining for him, this man that I'd never even met, only admired from a distance.

Ironically, this was the last thought I remembered thinking before I was up against the wall. I realized there was immense pressure holding me there, pinning me to the wall with inhuman strength, mostly against my two shoulders. It was a second before it even registered that they were two human –or human looking- hands. And this against me was also human. Or was he? Unlike most women, I could not scream, so I spent my time looking, there was no room to struggle, whoever he was, he'd done this a million times and completely overpowered me anyway. I didn't have a chance. I still couldn't resist breathing hard though as I shook my stringy mass of drenched hair out of my eyes and gazed up at his face.

At first, I didn't connect this wild and crazed, well, monster, with the man from earlier, but there was no doubt it was him. His teeth were barred, his eyes wild and black and frightening. Somehow, even like this, barbaric and wet and terrifying with water rolling off of his face in endless currents, he was still captivating, and I didn't' feel as frightened as I should have, though he was looking at me with hunger and desire. It was the most inopportune moment, but I somehow managed to notice that I was enjoying his touch, even if he was hurting me.

Slowly, it dawned on me that I should be dead by now, if he was the monster he seemed…I'd had much too much time to think…I didn't know what exactly he was, but I had a feeling he didn't usually drag this out for so long. He was looking at me too, almost the same way I was looking at him. He looked confused and shocked, but still beautiful. Slowly, it seemed as though his terrible, vicious self melted away, even though his eyes were still black. His mouth was not so threatening now, but hung open in perplexed wonder, his face still perfect. And last, the pressure on my left, and I slid down the wall, something I had not intended, every muscle sore and weak as though I'd been running tensed and afraid for miles and miles. All this from the minute or so of his weight on top of me.

I looked up at him, and he looked down at me, neither of us moving, why wasn't he killing me?

And then, he was gone, completely. I hadn't even seen him more, he just wasn't there anymore. He'd disappeared.

I sat there for a long time, breathing hard and staring at the other wall, thinking of what had just happened…had it happened? I was beginning to wonder if I was going insane. I eventually stood up and unbuttoned my blouse, sliding the sleeve off of my shoulder and feeling the rain hit my skin…on five deep purple lines there. Bruises. From his finger. I slid my own over them, feeling the burn where they barely touched the dark stripes…

It was nearly an hour before I gathered up my soaked notebook and went home with one last long glance at the alley behind me, wondering if he was somewhere in the shadows I'd earlier deemed innocent. Watching me.