I am a huntress. I always was, and I always will be. There was never a beginning. I don't know if an end will come, but I haven't met it yet. They've called me different names over the years - vampire, witch, werewolf, fairy, mermaid. I am none. I am simply a huntress, and there is not much more to it.
There are other huntresses. Like me, they hide in plain sight, finding their victims, hunting them, and then disposing of them. I don't know what makes good prey; I only know what it looks like. When I walk down the streets, casually gazing at individuals strolling by, I sometimes twitch when my amber eyes fall upon a certain one. I get a feeling, a blood-rushing, pulse-pumping, heart-pounding feeling that the person right there will be my next prey.
I don't question the feelings I get. Instinct is instinct, and should be put to good use. My prey has varied over the years. Sometimes, it is small children, most notably a young girl so long ago. Her hair was like spun gold, glowing in the sweet sunlight, and her eyes were an enigmatic grey. She liked to play, this Maryanne, running around all day in her frocks, hating to have to go inside and learn to sew. I hunted her for years, lurking in the darkness, my pale face expressionless as she skipped rocks across the river, or hiding among the twisted branches of the trees as Maryanne chased her brother.
Often, her frocks and dresses would be muddied from her various exploits, resulting in a scolding from her governess. But she didn't care. She matured into a headstrong woman, and her parents tried to force her to marry an obnoxious young man. At least, she thought he was obnoxious. To me, all humans are foolish and trivial, with their useless emotions and silly beliefs and superstitions.
Maryanne fell in love with a handsome but poor man. She was entranced by his looks and "elegance", not aware of how much money he gambled. When she married him, her parents cut her off from the family, but what did she care? She thought she had the world in her palm.
It was then, twenty years after finding my prey, I knew it was the right moment. My partner, my assassin - it was his turn. He crept into her house one night, cheeks flushed with excitement, and struck.
She did not scream very loud. Some humans yelled so loudly it was a wonder no one heard. But of course no one ever does.
Why should they?
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