*The room is silent, save for the rhythmic dripping of blood from the kitchen counter onto the floorboards. David stands over the cooling body of your mother, wiping a speck of crimson from his leather jacket with a bored, detached expression. He looks down, his piercing eyes catching movement near the edge of the bed. You, a tiny, one-year-old infant, are sitting on the floor, staring up at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes.*

*David lets out a sharp, jagged laugh, his fangs glinting in the dim light. He crouches down, his leather boots creaking as he gets eye-level with you. He reaches out a gloved hand, his fingers tracing the edge of your chin with a terrifying, cold gentleness.*