Gertrude quickly averted her gaze away from the thing, not daring to move. She had heard from a few scholars back home that older vampires like this one acted by sounds and smell alone. If said scholars were wrong in their research, Gertrude would haunt them terribly. Perhaps even drag them down to hell with her from the otherworld. 

Gertrude knew that was probably where she was going to end up. Hell. Perhaps the deepest depths of the fiery pits. 

If she died. Though she didn't truly believe in a higher power as much as her dear parents. Just immeasurable power from the universe tapped by mortals. 

Something she would have achieved, if it hadn't been for a certain mangy swamp rat.

The vampire was staring right at her, she could feel it's gaze on her. Perhaps waiting for Gertrude to look up, or try to run, but Gertrude stayed, not even daring to smack away a fly that had landed on her. 

The vampire came closer with a quicker speed than she could process, until it was right in front of her. Gertrude held her breath, but a moment later, she was grabbed by two very powerful hands, her dainty skin bruising rapidly under their grip.

Gertrude stiffened, wondering if she should just give up right there. Perhaps even look up to meet the thing's red gaze, so to be put under an enchantment where she'd see a handsome young man instead of a pale grey, rotten corpse. Certainly a better way to go out, in her opinion.

Before she could think about it more, however, it's head lunged forward, and fangs sank into the pale skin of her neck.

Her nails, long since broken from her trek through the woods with that lug of a creature, scored themselves down the thing's back, it's grey skin like pudding underneath them, but the hide would not be punctured. Soon, she would have no strength left at all, and the blazing pain and sickening feeling of blood leaving her body was making Gertrude feel quite faint.

If this is how I go....

Gertrude thought, the pain fading into a terrible numbness.

However, Gertrude wasn't able to finish said thought. 

________________________

Take me to the wood where pixies dance.

Where wood would do as wood could. 

Grow leaves, house me with shadowed hood.

Whisper sweet words of romance.

Poems were so sweet on the tongue, yet tasteless when said romance was absent. 

Instead, it was replaced by a terribly empty feeling. She didn't know why she kept repeating it, if that were the case. So many years had passed, and she still remembered the giddiness she had experienced. She could still feel the warmth of skin, the hot breaths from nights of fiery pleasure. She craved that pleasure, but it was too late now. 

Just an old hag, she was, dreaming of things she could have done instead of chasing one so....unattainable.

Old in spirit, but young in body. Strapped to a wall and left to rot for eternity. 'Twas the curse of her people. Perfect for those who didn't anger the powerful, who lived their immortal lives seizing every opportunity. Yet it was terrible for the ones like her. Hopeless from the day her mother gave birth to her. Doomed to an endless life from that very second.

Spittle dribbled down her chin, running into her matted locks of hair, where it would join the remnants of vomit left over from before. She couldn't remember the last time she had been washed. She supposed they had forgotten. 

She whispered the poem once more, then shook her head, nearly biting her tongue as a flash of burning anger shot through her. Telling her to stop dwelling on the past. 

Your poem wasn't that good to begin with, anyway.

She thought, mouth curled into a yellow toothed sneer.