[Worm]

Though William's feelings for Rosamund were mostly encompassed in apathy, he gave her a cold smirk and unhanded his wife to be. He smiled back at her though, hoping to cover her in his warmth. He couldn't wait much longer for the wedding. It had been almost a year, and any longer would just be misery. His hands lingered on Emily's arms for a moment longer before he released her. "You are absolutely right, Rosamund. And thank you." He sighed, finally stepping away from his prize and holding the glass of water in his hand. He took a seat next to the fireplace, extending his feet and leaning into the chair. He sat down his glass for less then a second before picking it up again and taking a swig of water. A refreshed sigh afterwards did not replace the ominous feeling in his gut.

"What have you heard of the old widow, Elizabeth Ward?" As he said her name, a chill rose up his spine.

---

Elizabeth had left her victim with two marks on her neck, and a cold, ghastly body. There was blood on her frock, but otherwise she looked frozen in time. Most vampires did not drain their victims completely, but Elizabeth had lost her precautions. After hunting for so long, it loses its allure. Now the hunt was just a blur in her mind. And after she was reborn, she was resurrected into the same misery as she'd attempted to leave. She did space out her feedings though. The last one before the young girl, was another girl ten years prior. She had fiery hair and freckles, a face that deserved preservation. Much like Isabel.

When the girl was discovered, Elizabeth found torches and lamps circling around the garden. The vampire could see all of the human movement from her mansion window. Sometimes, she wanted to return to Hungary and her castle. Though it was probably just as hollow now, as she felt. Perhaps just as unkempt. The whispers of its hallways still spoke to her. She remembered Isabel's figure dancing through hallways, singing to Elizabeth's tears. She wanted more of the girl's fragile happiness, her glowing light guided her through the trauma of the afterlife. Sometimes, if she closed her eyes, she could hear her singing. How, after hundreds of years, had her memory not faded? What kind of hell was this? She held a glass of wine, as deep as blood, between clawed fingers. She took a long sip and stared into the empty depths of her home.