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Stirring she wakes up with a sharp gasp, the smell of blood filling her senses and making her fully alert instantly. One elegant shapely arm extends in a burst of speed grasping the bottle of blood that was so close, so inviting. Slowly she sits up, her free hand seems to draw her brush out of thin air, infact she does. The handle of the black brush holds the design of a raven, encased in a rose, each petal lovingly crafted right down to the dew on the petals, every feather of the elegant raven expertly captured in the silver, a fine mix of who she was, with her own style.
She runs the brush absentmindedly through her hair, stroke stroke stroke. As her other hand taps the lid of the bottle expertly on a rock, sending the black lid flying with a clink into the shadowy depths of the caves shadows. Gratefully she drinks its contents down, before pausing; she looks at her reflection in a small puddle of pure water on the dirty floor, her perfect vision picking her outline easily. Her glorious eyes go wide as she realises her glamour from the night before had worn off, she was back to her purest, beautiful form. Her inhuman beauty shines through, even for one of the vampiric race, she was beautiful. It was part of her past that had made her so. She stares, whilst brushing her glorious, now knee length hair, noting a glossy almost midnight shine to it, her skin takes on a soft glow, its creamy depths seeming to hold all the glowing bright lights of the midnight stars, each one complimenting her beauty. Though she was a bit on the scrawny side at present, due to weeks without blood, without food and prolonged exposure to the harshest of weather, she held onto the pure scraps of who she was, all the signs of her natural self was there just in need of some feeding up.
After the final stroke of the brush, and the bottle now empty she rises and places the empty bottle on an oversized, irregularly shaped ledge she peeks out the entrance at the sky, noting it was truly night, nights beginning. As she strolls silently along the water’s edge, she hums loudly, on alert for danger as she fills her arms with lengths of fine long grass, once the load is so high she can barely see, and her feet are soaked she heads back to the cave, her senses open but defensive as she uses her senses to detect for danger. Appearing at the make shift home, she slides the grass in, following herself. She sits cross legged just inside the caves entrance, her dress hiked up around her middle of her pale thighs, her feet bare and planted firmly together Indian style as she weaves the grass into a woven bed. She glances out the entrance, taking in the moons position with a huff of annoyance. If she was to keep her promise to return, she had to go now. She pulls her long, sturdy boots back onto her toned legs, and laces them up, as she flicks a finger to the half woven web of weeds, sending it flying into the corner. She rises, and swiftly slides out the caves entrance, dusting off her much abused gown and striding quickly in the direction of the inn.