The chandelier swayed. Thousands of tiny crystals caught whatever light had slithered into the room and cast multicolored explosions on the ceiling and wall.

She lay silent. The cool marble floor cradled her. Her long, dark frock spread before her ankles like an inky pool. Long pale arms snaked over the tarnished white of the floor. A phantom face in mourning hues.

The man lay not too far away, curled up like a fetus, yet on the wrong side of time. His throat had been slit, and now his blood stained her lips, her fangs. Midnight had come and claimed him and now it called to her. Rise. It whispered, and she did.

The mirror stood before her, tall and ornate. It was an ancient piece, one that had been in this house long before she was even born and it would remain long after she had perished. No one knew where it had come from, all they knew was that it called to them. Sometimes she felt that it called to her the loudest.

She placed her hands on the frame, felt the curves of the carvings, let her fingers roam over the roses and ivy painted in gold. Age speckled the mirror, dark like dried blood. Avra's eyes rose to meet her reflections, and she smiled.