Petra had not eaten in far too long. It did not good for an insatiable mind like hers. Not even a drop of blood dared crossed the threshold of her luscious hungry mouth. She could feel her mind slip away and yet she couldn't quite bring herself to simply allow it to happen. She had never gone two weeks without feeding, an unheard-of thing for her, hunting was all she knew. Never had she felt her powers become so weak.

The light had retreated away, the day felt endless and suffocating, it was relief that she felt when day gave into the blissful night. The vampire had woken so abruptly, gasping and wide-eyed, panting and if she could sweat she would be dripping with it. Hungry. The immortal spider woman crawled out of her nest, to wander into those city streets, her two-toned eyes roving with a relentless fever. Her eyes are a rare blue of rich sapphires and teal and yet for all that beauty, there was no semblance of a lucid creature within them. She was once like a goddess of illusions, wielding them to meld reality into her own desire to create her own twisted playground for her food before she devoured them. But now she is damaged, her mind fractured and riddled with guilt.

Was she in the city or was she amongst the pines? Her brain seemed to be short-circuiting and broken into tiny particles that hardly made any sense. Were her illusions turning on herself with savagely snapping jaws? She hardly knew, her mind seemed hardly corporeal without a tether floating away with no hope of returning. Hunger a need so undiluted and potent it keeps her somewhat grounded. Was this what dying felt like? It somehow felt beyond that.

Her limbs move as though it were automatic, as though she is hardly in control of something she used to possess complete control of, slipping through the city more like a prowling broken thing. She heard the music before she heard anything, it was like a proverbial heartbeat and drew out the suffering creature from her shadows.

She is mesmerized by the lights, the sounds, the people, all that blood just seemed out of reach like delicious ripe low hanging fruit. Laughter reaches her ears and almost drives her further into a well of insanity.

Her long flowing ashen brown hair sweeping around her upon a random breeze, it frames her face, conceals her tattered clothing. The dark grey shirt ripped from a fit of madness, her nails clawing at the fabric.

She felt herself reaching out, only to recoil from some absurd thought plaguing a fractured mind. She wanted to bury her fangs in anyone she could have snatched. No illusions, no talking, no playing. She knew she would have drunk them dry as a mummified corpse, she knew there would not be a drop spared. She hardly trusted herself and yet she was so hungry.

She licked her lips as if tasting that blood as though she could simply draw that blood to her from a distance. Her mouth dry, her hands seemingly frail. All their scents and emotions plowed into her like a freight train.

She watched helplessly as if torn what to do, watching humans intermingling carefree and happy. She was curious at how they acted, unburdened by the world but lost in each other, lost in the consistent thudding melody of music. It was entrancing in a fickle way and yet all she wanted to do was conceal herself within that darkness, instead of the sea of people. It was a veritable feast, all that warm blood beaconing her as much as those carefree humans and yet she hesitates. She finds herself tormented, sliding through the crowd like a dying creature. She drew in their scents, welcomed their heartbeats which reminded her of thousands of fervent drums all calling to her. All she had to do was take what she wanted, what she needed, swim in a sea of their blood. After all, they were all nothing but cattle to feed the true apex predators.

That was when she spotted a seemingly lonely, harmless boy in the thick of the crowd. His eyes closed as if in a trance from the music. But to Petra, it was all blaring noise over the loud screaming torment of her own mind. She finds herself creeping toward him, his blood calling to her and she cannot resist as the bloodlust propels her. Yet there was this nagging sensation in the back of her mind, like a piercing needle poking in her brain. Saying this was wrong, whispering his innocence and yet despite the conflict the spider-like woman moves drawing so close until she can practically taste him.

How innocent she seemed, how helpless like a frail dove. But she is anything but. "Will you help me?" The exotic woman whimpers out to him, confused, desperate, and ravenous. Her eyes desperate, seeking, blinded by that searing pain in her stomach. If he agreed to help her then it would be okay to take what she needed from him? Her illusions seem to dance around her like shadow serpents weaving in and out of the crowd. "Please." She watched him with wide eyes, torn between flat-out draining him now or running away.