Dracul sat on her roof, looking up at the moon, a thermos of tea in her hand. [i]Almost a full moon. Not that that really matters.[/i] Her legs swung slightly, their black clad feet swishing through air. Dracul was wearing a pair of black jeans, black combat boots, and a navy blue hoodie over a navi blue shirt. After all, navy blue was harder too see at night than black.

Dracul reached and touched the crossbow strapped to her leg, and the silver tipped bolts strapped on her other leg. Dracul could be called old fashioned, but this weapon was the best for her ability. She was a fast woman, not a string one. She was designed to be nimble and flexible. To be a lurker not to be in head on combat. 

Dracul thought back to when she had become a hunter. She had been sixteen. It was eight years ago. After she had finally let someone slip through the shell around her heart. The shrill forged by an accident that had left Dracul with her trust issues and hydrophobia. She had finally gotten a true friend, one that wouldn't betray her. After a few years of edging and help, Dracul had let her become a friend. But that was over. She was dead now. Six years ago on a beautiful night like this one. 

Dracul sighed. Memories were a burden to all living things. But no one could escape their past. In some way or another one's past would haunt them one way or another. But for now, Dracul would try to enjoy such a beautiful night.