He is starving.
And bored.
His stomach never growls, but there is always this tormenting wave of hunger so immense that he wants to clench and rip anything with his nails, latch his canines onto any piece of skin and wrench out the veins, or pins a creature down before smashing him into a mash and shower in his blood.
That escalating craving. That insatiable need. That exasperating thirst.
He needs flesh. Or blood. Or both.
Or just a touch is fine.
He is pale, so pale a beam of light can penetrate his skin and it becomes translucent, sometimes glistening. His eyes used to be a blend of sapphire and amethyst, but now they are often a darker shade of navy. They seldom blink now. He can stare into the void for a whole day without a flutter. Unless stimulated by peril or threat, the bal
