Mayme stayed a few feet behind Percival, her eyes steadied on him— more notably upon the dark cape that cascaded down his back. A symbol of his affiliated group stitched into it large and proud with a light cream coloured thread. Perhaps it was white once, but time had muddied it. It was his axe-hatchet— Mayme still couldn't tell which— atop two broken triangles encircled with script. The threads were worn and frayed in some places, so even if Mayme wished to read the vile words it said about her kin she could not. The cape swayed like a grandfather clock's pendulum with each step the man took. Back and forth. Tik-tok. A reminder to the young lady she was truly on borrowed time. As each second passed she crept closer and closer to disaster.

Surely he would come to realise her heritage eventually. Perhaps the light might hit her at the wrong angle and magnify the traits to give it away, or perhaps they would stumble into a church member with a particularly keen eye, and if not either of those he was seeing her home. Home. Where her clearly vampiric mother resided. It was true Mayme didn't think she could traverse the town without aid, not with all the beasts lurking about. Not with that dreaded church woman stalking the streets. But how much better of an option was travelling with him? An uneasy queasiness filled her stomach as he looked back at her. She lowered her eyes and nervously chewed her lower lip. She tried to think, tried to come up with a plan to both have his aid through this nightmare and abandon him before he even had the chance to discover her secret. She couldn't think. With each sway of his cloak, each step, a god awful sound echoed in her skull. The ticking of a clock.

Tik-tok.

Each second accompanied with gory visions of her own demise. An axe blow to the head, a bludgeoning that would completely decimate her, an eviscerating slash across her abdomen, a gunshot that would splatter her brains across the street and buildings. Her premonitions were painted so vividly in her mind she could almost swear she was truly foreseeing them.

And if that weren't enough, breathy voices clouded her mind even farther. Townsfolk whispered and muttered from behind their barred windows and barricaded doors. The quiet dissonance floating in the air seemed to question Mayme's so-called choice to be out late. She was no killer. No fighter. The long skirt, the ruffled petticoat, and the shawl tied around her shoulders with a big billowing bow spoke that loud and clear… she was a lady and had no place on the streets during nightfall. Of course she drew attention. It made her squirm in her skin more than she already was. Perhaps, even, someone might whisper an astute observation about her a bit too loud and her secret would be spilled that way.

Tik-tok.

However, it seemed Mayme’s latest worry was unnecessary. Percival seemed not to notice the whispers, his ears and eyes strained for signs of the ill milling about. It was a difficult task for him. Not because of the whispers, but the soft clicks of the boots from the woman behind him. Each time he glanced back at her she lowered her innocent doe-like eyes that had no doubt been fixated on him before he caught her gaze. That much was hard not to notice, and it was harder not to assume why. It made his mind wonder. Her meek, shy expression spoke more than she knew, he thought. She must have been interested. He had heard of such phenomena plenty of times. Younger women falling smitten for men that could be their father’s age— a protector, a provider. It was flattering, how could it not be? She was beautiful in a way he hadn’t seen in many local women. They all looked tired, leathery, raggedy. Even the upper class could not escape the deep purple bags under their eyes and strands of early coarse grey hair. May was different. Her cheeks were round, her skin was smooth, her hair looked soft. And her body— oh her body— so delightfully petite. Maybe she could be called dainty or delicate, but something in his heart— or maybe loins— just knew she was… malleable. Her corset wrapped tight around her, teasing just enough of her shape when her movements allowed her shawl to whisk aside so he could catch a glimpse. He was almost sure he could wrap his hands around her entire waist. And furthermore, the corset held her shirt close to her chest; even if her collar was up to her neck the fabric still clung to her. It rose and fell with her breath to subtly outline her bust. Just a hint. Not even handfuls. A slight disappointment, but he could look past that. What she did have looked perky, and it at least suited her frame. Perhaps, he hoped, her breasts would be as dotted with freckles as her face was. Perhaps so were her arms, her legs, her hips… the whole of her porcelain skin, the whole of her doll-like body.

His foul thoughts were dashed as the city they lived in made its issue known. Low, grumbling yaps and whines had replaced the whispers that once permeated the cold evening air. Percival's heart began to race as the prospect of spilling the blood of these rancid infected beasts filled his head. Not because he was particularly sadistic— well, not totally because he was particularly sadistic— but because of the fine young mistress tailing behind him and his wish to figure out just how many freckles her naked body had. Bloodshed would surely impress her. It would prove himself the strong, protective figure she was clearly seeking. And, perhaps if he could impress her enough, he would be rewarded by night's end.

No. Not perhaps.

He would be.

It was just a matter of time.

Tik-tok.

With a smile plastered on his face, he carried onwards through the streets. His ears sharply listened to pinpoint where exactly he was headed. Once his eyes caught a glimpse of the hollowed grey faces down a shadowed ally he stopped and put down his arm to warn the young lady behind him to do so also. Mayme too halted, but only briefly before taking a few nervous steps backwards. Percival said nothing, but he did not need to. He inhaled deeply before taking a step forward, his narrow eyes set towards the back of the dark alley he stood in front of. Two sets of beady eyes on blood-splattered faces stared back at him and began to sneer. Spittle left their drooling maws in ropes as they hissed.

Percival wrapped his hand tightly round the handle of the axe that was snug at his side. He vanished behind the corner and out of Mayme’s view. She dared not step forward to watch. She heard one of the beasts screech, and the loud slaps of frantic, hungry footfall. Mayme gasped, her hand wandered around her back and under her shawl, her fingers gently brushed over the grip of her gun still hidden half tucked into her corset. As if an instinct, her eyes shut tight. It was a pointless act, the city’s towering stone and brick buildings kept the ordeal away from her line of sight. It did nothing but put her into more danger.

She heard the goings on still, the sound of those ill creatures yowls only to be silenced by wet thuds and bloodcurdling crunches and cracks. The sloppy sloshing of blood and gore that regrettably reminded her of over-sauced pasta. She forced herself to pry her eyes open, if only out of self preservation. Still, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Blood had not reached outside the alley’s entryway. And now, it was silent. The air was absolutely still, only shaken by her unsteady breaths— until the slow, heavy, deliberate thuds of boots echoed between the towering walls that had the alley encapsulated. Perhaps she should be thankful. Perceval was doing his job. He was protecting her, that is what she wanted, wasn’t it? Yet, she felt as if she would almost feel more comforted by the side of beasts instead.

She took a few careful steps forward and peered around the corner. She watched with wide, fearful eyes as Percival, cloaked in shadow, returned to her. She tried to keep her eyes on the man, but in her peripherals she could see the chaos he had caused. Mayme could not help but feel a deep, sorrowful pit form in her stomach. Sure, she had shot one of those things herself, but a single gunshot seemed so much more merciful than the scene that was splayed out in front of her. She didn’t even want to put into words the deviation. Words, thoughts, description… It all made it too real. It all whispered to her the fate she was too facing by this man's hand. She had to do something about it, she knew that. But what? What could she do?

“They’re dead now, they can’t hurt you,” Percival said, as if that would soothe her. He even offered her a smile that made her skin crawl. His voice seemed calmer than it was back at his house. He had deliberately tried to soften it for her sake. That made her feel even more ill.