She stood gazing up at the towering structure before her. The moonlight shone feebly on the jagged pieces of stone, illuminating the high reaches but casting other places into impenetrable shadow. The black dog beside her whined and ran towards the stairs, turning back to her as though beckoning her to follow.

She slowly trudged upwards, each stair harder than the next as though her dying soul was growing heavier and more difficult to carry every step of the way. She reached the level of the old chapel, a large chamber which must have been fantastically decorated in times gone by. Now it was just a hollow shell, its former splendor carved out by the fury of nature. The pillars were stained and crumbling, covered with lichen and ivy that had partially devoured the church. The cracked, ancient stained glass windows peered like cataract clouded eyes, squinting in the weak light of the moon.

The black dog looked up at her expectantly, its red tongue lolling out of its mouth, its canines glinting sharply in the moonlight.

As she looked at it a dreadful thing began to happen. The black dog started to whimper, its limbs bending at odd angles so Mella could hear the snapping and popping of the joints. The creature was writhing around in apparent agony and it seemed to Mella that there were more limbs than there should have been. She could just make out the shape of the dog, mingled with that of a human-like figure. She watched without feeling, the part of her that would have been horrified by such a sight was hiding somewhere deep inside, looking out through her eyes in terror.

Eventually with a groan, the mass dissociated itself into the shape of a man who rose slowly to his feet before her.

His skin was pale, the colour of maggots writhing in a grave, but his lips were sumptuous and full and his eyes flickered red in the dying moonlight.

She looked at him with mild interest, he looked at her hungrily as a starving man would view the last lump of bread. His gaze reached deep within her to the only part that truly remained and crushed it with his will. There was nothing left.

Suddenly the sombre look on his face cracked and it was split with a wide grin. He bowed gracefully, so low that his sleeve almost swept the ground.

“Adromiro tem penena mande o barorai”, he rasped his voice cold and hollow, “but you can call me Cebrien”.

If Mella had still had the facilities to be surprised she would have. Suddenly midway through his sentence she could understand his words, even though he was speaking to her in the same tongue as before.

“I have been waiting for you for so many nights my beautiful Mirela, my Mella. Ah but it is you… Mirela, you cannot hide your true self from me anymore. You have come back to me after all these years alone in this accursed place, waiting and waiting. It has been so painful to me”, he looked at her sadly, “But my love, my pisliskurja, I cannot be angry with you for tonight we shall be together again… forever”.

He moved towards her standing so close she could feel his hot breath on her face, the tangy metallic scent of it that she knew so well. She did not turn to look at him, her attention focused on the soft roundness of the moon that had now sunk so low it was almost pierced by the peaks of the mountains rising jagged from the ground.

She felt an icy hand crawling its way across her back, the fingers draping around her shoulder and resting there like a spider on its web. Before she would have shuddered away from his touch in disgust but now the hand just felt like another part of her.

His other hand brushed across her stomach, the fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps were they strayed. It seemed strange to her that her skin should still react to him so strongly when her being had lost all sense of revulsion.

His hands slid down to her waist, curling protectively around her and pulling her towards him so the full length of his frigid body was pressed up against hers. She was close enough to feel that his heart was not beating. She wondered detachedly if he even had a heart.

She felt the heat of his mouth, seemingly the only warm part of his body against her ear.

“Oh Mirela, my beautiful beautiful wife”, he breathed his voice ragged, “to hold you in my humble arms once again. I will not let you go so easily this time. I promise I will not hurt you again”.

He buried his face in her neck and began to kiss it passionately, his hot wet mouth brushing against it. She knew that the sensitive skin there was sending distress signals throughout her entire body, but they would not be intercepted. She felt his sharp teeth gently scraping against her and knew it would not be long now.

Still she felt a momentary surprise when he plunged his fangs deep into her throat, a final uprising of a last unknown fragment of humanity still dwelling within her. She made no sound, staring silently up at the exhausted moon which was sinking into the waiting arms of the mountains as the blood poured out of her.