Things that go bump in the night

KRISTOPHER we never see other people anyway, only the monsters we make of them    Loneliness was such a strange concept to the ancient man. One might say that he was lonely, having been on his own for a century and a half, but was he? What was loneliness but a construct of the primal urge to connect with others and be part of a community? If that urge had been crushed through so many years of forced isolation, did it still qualify as lonely? He didn’t think so, but others may disagree. Then again, he didn’t much care for the opinion of those lesser beings.    Tonight, he strolled under the cover of darkness, his strength not yet close to what it once had been. It was such a shame... He used to be magnificent... Now, he was biding his time and avoiding the sunlight as much as he could until his strength replenished itself again.    Unfortunately for him, that meant less opportunity for hunting. No, no... Not deer or rabbit or anything of that sort, but for any of those foolish enough to venture out into the darkness when predators lurked around every corner. And yes, he was absolutely the quiet, patient, deadly hunter just waiting for the opportunity to strike.    Tonight, the brisk winds of Flowerbirth evenings blew, which would chill any non-Ascended to the bone. Apparently, besides that little thing he had come across at amusing mob that had gathered at the Spire. He nearly chuckled to himself at the thought of the protest. It was adorable...    Kristopher watched her from a distance, observing her movements as every fine predator would. “Feel me,” he spoke into the winds, just loud enough that it would reach her in a hissed whisper. “Know me, young one.”    It was then that he made his move.    Rapidly, he darted forward on nearly silent feet behind a few buildings until he was a decent distance ahead of her. He waited a moment, then walked onto the street only a few steps ahead of her, so she would have to stop short to avoid crashing into him.    Clothed entirely in black, save for the pristine white shirt he wore beneath his long coat, Kristopher lifted his brow at the girl. “My apologies,” he said softly. “It’s remarkably bold for such a frail thing to wonder the nights by her lonesome. There are so many dangers that lurk in the shadows.” He flickered a fanged grin at the girl. so who is the real monster; the looker, or the judged?