Toes, unpainted, bare, lifted out of soapy water, silken legs bending to escape the tub of the bath, before finally the toes reached the cold surface that called itself floor. Smooth as paper, Jane pulled the rest of her body out of the water, walking out of the bath and barely missing slipping upon the floor. Drips of water fell down as she reached out and picked up the clothing she'd dropped, pulling them on one by one. Part of her wanted to ask if they were still drinking out there but she didn't want to know. Inside she was still drinking. Her body had felt the blood lust rising inside her. They just want me dead, she thought. In her mind she could hear their snickers and sneers as they laughed greedily and drunk up what was left without her. They're not even sharing anymore.

She didn't question them wanting her dead--not even who they were. Her memory descended towards blank, as if everything was certain at the same time that it was unknown. There wasn't a way out. There hadn't been a way in. Who's left out there? Rasheen, that weird guy. God, he was so loud. There was that Kylar guy, as well as that Boluo...who else? That girl's out there. The, uh, the Zoe one? They all want me dead. And the Gareth...and fake Eugene, and their new clan members...The odds stacked up against her, an unfriendly brigade set up to stop her.

"They want you dead," Eugene whispered in her ear. Laughter rang from his voice, harsh and filled with the sorrow of years before. Red flashed where he stood and she watched it, watching with eyes that dared to turn to him. "Start with the boring guy."

"Which one?" Jane wanted to laugh and she did--it bubbled out of her and cascaded through the air like water in zero gravity. She was weightless. He was weightless. Slowly, Jane moved towards the door of the bathroom, listening to the screams of those outside. They'd all gone mad. The blood was there but she couldn't have it. Jane wanted it. She desired more blood. More, more, more, nothing would ever be enough. She had paused but now she longed for it--the killing, the taking of life, everything to destroy what could no longer be.

Tonight was the night the clan would fall.

"They're all dead inside, they won't mind."

"Their blood must taste good, mixed with that of a humans, filled and gorged on those out there. They're so selfish. Why don't they share? Just a little taste of their blood. It'd feel so nice. Taste so good. I bet it tastes good."

Jane shivered. Their cold bodies touched Jane, feeling her skin, and she wanted to cry out. The blood stained, white shirt she had appeared more black than anything. She touched the soft cotton as she waited inside the bathroom, her wet hair dripping onto the floor. One drip and she touched the cotton with her thumb, the blood sticking to her. Two drips and she pulled it close to her mouth. Three dips and she breathed in deeply before sucking on the fabric, tasting the blood. It pumped new life into her vampire heart.

People danced, fires dropping into the world. Matches were thrown. Everyone screamed, their voices slipping into one another. Jane held her hands over her ears, trying to drown them out. "Leave me alone!" she screamed. No one heard her.

"Just give in," they beckoned, drawing ever nearer to her. Jane wanted to scream. To force them away. She couldn't.

The door opened and Jane looked out, her eyes widening as she beheld the horrors before her. They matched the screams and mental images inside her mind, a horror and freak show that wouldn't end. The taste of blood filled her mouth and she bit down against it, drawing out more, drinking it as though it wasn't her own.

"They want you dead."

All of them were there, drinking. Creatures, that's all they were. Creatures of darkness. Freaks. Things that held no right to live.

"They want you dead."

She'd have to kill them first. Kill, or watch as they destroyed themselves. They already attacked one another, fighting, screaming, trying to hide from the death and chaos that never had an end.

"They want you dead."

It was the pineapple guy who'd died first--his body was slumped against the ground. Jane laughed as she stepped over it, no time to heed such a worthless thing. The vampires were going rabid out there and she watched with almost a sort of glee. When the last human was drained she saw them turning one another another. The windows let in the darkness of night and the few candles that'd been lit were nearing their last minutes. Everything was coming to an end. In the center of the room was the grand table where the bodies had been stacked, instruments of death lain out for any to use as they saw fit. Gareth stood at the head of the table, drinking blood from a cup, watching all as though he were a god of death. Jane saw the screaming, the yelling. So much wasted blood spilled out onto the ground.

"Look at them."

"Wasteful."

"Worthless."

The voices whispered in her ear, much more than one. She couldn't hardly tell them apart. First it was just Eugene, then her sister, Monica, now others. They whispered and breathed deeply, screaming loudly, but no one could hear but her. They were relentless. "Just kill them before they kill you."

"They want you dead."

"I can't," she spoke aloud.

"You can."

The low whisper of her voice was nothing against the loudness that surrounded the room and everyone in it. "This is my clan."

"They mean nothing to you."

It wasn't a lie.

"They want you dead."

Heat rested against her shoulder and she jumped as the fingers tightened, holding into her skin. His voice whispered into her ear, dark and mysterious, "They've gone crazy. We need to escape." Jane screamed for a second, turning around, staring into the eyes of a man who dared touch her.

"He wants to kill you."

No trust; no Rasheen. No trust. Teeth bared, Jane hissed and jerked away from him. "You want to kill me."

"I don't-"

"He's trying to distract you from the truth."

She snarled, "You're trying to distract me from the truth!"

"No, that's not it-"

Jane wouldn't allow his pleas to mean anything to her. Rasheen was beauty in almost an unknown way. That was what made Jane weary of him when she first joined--his humanity had been abandoned in the eagerness to kill, to drain. His jawline was the first thing she noticed about him and it was the first thing she broke. "Jane," he cried out, "stop, help me! Everyone's going mad! Don't be like them-"

His cries were lost as she struck him again. Though he fought back, scratching her arms and face, drawing blood, leaving punches that bruised more than a little, there wasn't much he could do. Jane had been trained when she was a cop. The instincts to fight were accentuated by her now killer abilities that had been in use from the first day she'd turned. Everything inside her was a poison that throbbed through her veins in a never-ending wave of fury. Rasheen didn't stand a chance as her hands clasped around his throat, holding him there. It was useless when he had not want to breathe, but her grip tightened as her foot kicked up at the table. Forks, knives, all sorts of sharp tools rained down upon them. She grinned as one cut into her arm. Peeling one hand off his throat, she grasped the knife and licked her blood from it.

"I taste good," she whispered. The groaning and fighting of the other vampires left her excited as she lowered the knife towards his throat. "You'll taste better."

His screams reached the heaven to call out to the gods he didn't believe in. Rasheen Perpetua begun the graveyard.

"Look at you," Monica taunted. "Covered in blood. What a good Coppy, ey, Jane?" Monica was laughing.

Jane slashed out with the knife, aiming for her, trying to kill the memory of a sister long forgotten. It could not be. What were physical objects against that which only existed inside her mind? Jane laughed and cried, the tears spurring on the laughter, and she fell back against the table. Before her she could see the killing continue, the cries of those losing. She watched them fight and scream and kick. A window burst open and small bits of glass rained down on the floor like fireworks.

Jane laughed gleefully, feeling something tug on her, pulling her forward. "Kill them all," the voices cried out. "Kill before they kill you!"

"The boring man, the boring man. Take his life."

Next she went back to the boring man, listening as his screams grew. Pathetic screams. He'd shrunk into a corner, screaming over and over, a name, that of a parent. He screamed out for the ghosts to leave, to no longer haunt. It was beautiful in ways that could only be haunting. Kylar was boring, with his brown hair, short hair swiped in every direction, blood coating his body. The red had become him and Jane didn't hesitate to cut a slit upon his throat. It splattered out, coating her, coating him. The red that was on him because the red that was him and she reached out, feeling herself breath slower. With Rasheen she hadn't been able to do it--she had left his blood there. But this boy wasn't dead yet, his body was twitching, yells choked back by floods of blood, and Jane wet the tips of her fingers with it and brought them back, licking them gently. Another body to the graveyard.

His blood was fire and death and Jane relished in the way it felt to have tasted another's blood. Her clan members were dying, all around just people fading away in memories. The night was livid with death and gruesome shouts and grunts of those still drinking, still attacking, fighting with one another. Before, another clan had been the source of fighting. Now it was themselves. They were their own enemies, their own hatred, everyone knowing what was true in the world.

Death is us. I am a creature of death. A vampire. A living nightmare. Jane shivered as she stood before Kylar's body, staring down at him. Maybe he wasn't so boring. His features stood out in death, sharpened, stretched outwards at awkward angles. There, peace befell the living. In death one held no pain, no screams of ghost, no hiding in corners. In death Kylar had become just that.

Jane smiled. She turned to the group, watching as more died at the hands of themselves. The newly turned bit and attacked one another with fury and passion. There was no stopping the death. It'd come and it wouldn't pass, the night not holding an end. Her count of death had grown, attacking her senses and bleeding life from those gone.

Third came the older woman, the twenty some odd year old, nearing thirty now but not having aged a day. She's pretty. She wants to kill me. Jane would recognize that expressive face anywhere. She had a defined body and the eyes of a killer. That's the Zoe woman. Zoe's fangs were currently inserted into a child, sucking her dry, and Jane watched from afar. How will I kill her?

How pretty will her blood be when it's outside of her body?

Visions of death, of Zoe's body flying through the air, caught in a firestorm of missiles. Her falling and caught only by the harsh embrace of concrete that burst open her head. Body parts were pulled away in Jane's mind. Nothing would be enough. Jane wanted to rip her to pieces, to tear off each limb until there was no more.

It would never be enough.

"She's wasteful."

"She's sinful."

"What a selfish, selfish child. What if you sunk your teeth into her?" The thought left chills upon her body but Jane couldn't deny the way it felt. The blood lust, the wanton death. All of it was possible.

Her dark hair was stained with blood as Jane neared her, gently removing the body before sinking her teeth into Zoe's skin. She fought, goodness much greater than Rasheen had, but it wouldn't be enough. Jane's fingers tightened, digging into her skin, drawing out more blood as her teeth pounded and ripped at the flesh. White skin was torn and mingled with the dark red of blood that dripped down. Another candle flickered out, leaving only two to light the room.

"Drink, drink."

"They're trying to kill you. Drain her."

Screams invaded her thoughts. Visions of fire rained down, the entire building filling up with smoke. She coughed yet was unable to pull away. She kept drinking, drinking, drinking. There wasn't an end. There could never be an end. The black tar of smoke wafted by and took the form of a man, reaching out to her, strangling her. Jane smiled and just bit down harder. She felt bones crunching under her. Dead bodies piled up until all she could do was look down at the pile of bones there. Even what was in her hands was bones--no skin, no blood, no life. Just bones.

Bones of those living

bones of those dying

everything combined into a graveyard.

Jane screamed, dropping Zoe's lifeless body there. She felt heat raging through her, a fire that couldn't be stopped. It was poison. The blood. All of it. Poisoned. Gareth's laughing had grown wilder and he threw his hands up in the air, spilling the blood from his cup as his wicked tangets never ceased. All was gone and crazy and Jane cried out, her voice large, booming, a scream that ripped her open.

Blood dripped from her body from where they'd attacked her, trying to stop her. The freshly turned vampires had all but killed each other. Their bones littered the floor.

"Care to dance, Jane?" Fake-Eugene asked. She took his hand and they danced over the bodies. They were weightless. She wasn't even a pound, as light as a feather, hardly touching the world. They spun round and round until his fangs came towards her, biting into the flesh of her arm, and she screamed louder. Blood spilled over as he pulled away, gasping, and she reached out with her fingers and dug into him.

Strength filled her, from blood or other she'd never know, and Jane flung him against a wall where his limp body was no more.

"Dance in the graveyard," the voices called. "Kill all of them."

Jane was limp. There was no more to kill. None except her and-

Gareth.

The leader.

The one who'd welcomed her, who accepted them all into the clan. He'd gone to help them before Caroline had died, before the attack, before anyone. The man laughing, deranged, the one who orchestrated it all. He was the finale, the final kill, the man holding the strings of all the puppet lives she'd taken.

Jane watched him, saw his body, feverish in dance, joyously celebrating. He lifted dead bodies to drink the last bits of blood, going from one to the next, over and over. It's just us two now.

She stepped forward, cautiously. Jane breathed in deeply. Death and rot had taken over the place. Blood was everywhere, flooding her senses, burning through her. The pain was intense and she stepped closer, closer, her feet taking her to the distorted figure that could only be the leader. She reached out, caressing his face. For a moment they stood there, the leader, the last member. Staring at each other. The blood lust was evident in both eyes. Nothing there but death could ever occur.

"Finish me," he whispered. The sweet defeat of him came in every syllable of every word, uttered only to signify the end. Naught but death was left. At Gareth's death would come the end, the graveyard would be completed.

Jane watched as he flew away from her, fighting to get free. She screamed out and ran after him, her body moving fast through the flames. They couldn't touch her. They wouldn't kill her. She'd find him first. "Gareth," Jane shouted. "Gareth!"

He was too far gone.

"I'll kill you," she spat at where he'd been. "I'll kill you, do you hear me? You'll be dead! Dead!"

Gareth stared at her, standing still. Their moment was there, wailing in open air. Jane couldn't feel. She didn't know which reality was real anymore. Both were there. Nothing was true. The skeleton and smoke world of one or the dead bodies and graveyard of another.

He reached out, giving her the cup he'd drank from. A small residue of blood remained and she raised it high, watching as it spilled out from the down turned cup.

The flames rose higher and higher, smoke choking out all forms of life. They formed a million men, all dancing, all flying around. Everyone was fake. Fake fake fake

"You're all dead," she screamed.

They danced anyways, never ceasing, their movements with no end.

"Stop it, stop it!"

Gareth's eyes flashed as the cup was brought downwards. It broke as his skull did. It fell as he did. Both reached the ground, dead, with the last bits of blood dripping out of their sides. Jane stared at the masses, at the bodies around her.

She saw those she'd known before.

Those she'd turned.

Those she'd laughed with, fought with.

Those who protected her.

The dead were in piles. Black hair, blonde, red, brown, all mixed together. Everyone was the same now. Everyone was a ghost of a body, just lying there as the blood flowed together. Inside her body burned, screaming out, and Jane looked up to the roof, watching as the last candle burnt itself out. Darkness that wasn't truly dark awaited her, the bodies there, unable to be unseen. She cried out tears that wouldn't come. Her eyes were burnt out hollows of what once was.

All that was there was death.

Jane laid in a graveyard of people. A knife glinted as the sun outside began to rise, catching just the barest thread of pink light that rose with the break of dawn. No blood had yet touched it. Her hands reached out, snatching it up as another wave of burning pain spread through her. The world of flames wasn't there. It wasn't real. It was just her alone in a graveyard.

Everyone was gone. Death was all that there could be. This graveyard isn't complete. Something was missing. She felt it inside her, burning through like the world that played through her mind. It came worse than the smoke men that strangled and hit her. It was harder than the pull to kill, to drain. It isn't complete. Not yet.

"No more death," Jane cried out, grasping the knife tight. White knuckles greeted her as she pulled it close. There's nothing left now. "No more death." Her voice was but a whisper against the bleak night. Outside the sun had just begun to rise, it's weak lighting shining in through the windows. Orange mingled with the pink tints, casting lines against her rugged face. There's nothing at all. "No more." In the blade she could see the blood stained reflection of a lost, mad creature. There wasn't a human in sight. Only a monster and a graveyard.

No more death.

The blade fell on weak skin, tearing at the tender throat. Blood was warm as it gushed out and she dug deeper, feeling her body shake, hands tremble before they dropped to the ground. The knife remained there, jutting out as her body fell forward, pushing it deeper in and cracking the base of her skull.

The graveyard was then complete.