The pale man rises from the disturbed soil, dirt falling from his faded black silks as he stands. His crimson eyes scan the moonlit graveyard impassively as clawed fingers brush back errant strands of fiery hair. Though his movements seem graceful, there is an unnatural stiffness to them, like a marionette pulled by unseen strings. He tilts his head at the sound of footsteps approaching, the only sign of interest in his otherwise blank expression. A woman stumbles into view, clearly inebriated as she sways and mumbles to herself. She freezes at the sight of him, blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel some delusion. When he remains, gaze unwavering, she takes a hesitant step forward.
"What in blazes..." she slurs, squinting "Thought ya were a ghost or somethin'. Jus' some crazy bloke wanderin' the graveyard, eh?"
She laughs nervously, wobbling closer despite her unease. He simply watches her, still as a statue save for the wind stirring his vibrant locks. The woman frowns, gesturing clumsily with her bottle.
"Hey, ya deaf or somethin'? Why ya starin' at me like that?"
When he fails to respond, she scoffs and turns away muttering. His head cocks slightly, pupils contracting into slits. With startling speed he seizes her shoulder, claws digging in as he whirls her around. She cries out in shock and pain, the bottle slipping from her fingers to shatter on the ground. Blood trickles down her arm as he leans closer, inhaling deeply. The rich coppery scent seems to stir something within him and thin lips peel back to reveal sharp fangs in a hungry grin. The woman's eyes go wide with terror, mouth working soundlessly in pleading. But her cries fall on uncaring ears as he drags her into the concealing darkness of the graveyard, the only witness the cold light of the waning moon.
Elliot released the woman's lifeless body, letting it slump to the ground. He stared down at her torn throat, watching dispassionately as the last of her blood seeped into the thirsty earth. A distant part of his mind recoiled in horror at the gruesome sight, but it was muted, as if separated from him by a pane of warped glass.
In a daze, he drifted back to his violated grave, the dirt strewn carelessly about. He settled amidst the rubble, heedless of the soil staining his tattered shroud. Here he had been laid to rest, only to awaken as some eldritch creature of the night. It was a nightmare he could not seem to wake from.
Elliot raised his head slowly at the sound of approaching footsteps. Through the mist crept a lone figure, face obscured by shadow. He watched their approach with detached curiosity, no longer possessed by that terrifying hunger. He felt only a bone-deep exhaustion, as if he had crossed some fell threshold from which there could be no return.
Let them come, he thought bitterly. What more could be done to him now? He was beyond fear, beyond feeling. The stranger's footsteps halted as they drew near, no doubt taking in his disheveled appearance and the grisly remains beside him. Elliot met their gaze evenly, burgundy eyes burning in his pale face. He wondered what they saw in him - victim, monster, or some tortured mix of both. In truth, he no longer knew himself. The Elliot he had been was as dead as the body resting at his feet. There was only this hollow vessel remaining, stained with blood not his own.
He inclined his head slowly to the stranger in greeting, or perhaps farewell. His tangled red locks slipped forward, partially obscuring his face like a mourning veil. He felt nothing within but a bleak resignation. Whatever purpose had recalled his spirit from the grave was not his to know. He was adrift, belonging no longer to the world of light or shadow. Let this stranger do what they would; he had nothing left. Elliot waited silently, his unbeating heart numb in his breast. What was one more violation to him now?
