Sebastian uttered the words that seemed odd, he admitted that he hated killing. Why on earth would he hate such a thing? These men would so easily have stolen his undead life without a bat of an eyelash. Surely he would have to see that there is no other way. So often she had taken lives without a second thought, sometimes consuming humans until they ran dry. She had gotten better with time, but you know how old habits die hard and dead men tell no tales.

"Do not mourn their deaths. They would not mourn yours." She spoke, far too softly lacking her usual impish flare. She does not argue with him or questions his values because to her he was perfect, even if he had trouble snuffing out a life and she could do it so readily. There was something so very sad about him in this moment as he traced her cheek with an idle finger. Something was surely amiss and yet she couldn't quite place it. Even as she grabbed his hand, she saw there was something withdrawn about him. As though he were suddenly pulling away as though there was a thought that carried him far and out of reach.

Their connection was suddenly severed so quickly, she swore she could see that red ribbon rip as though it were a spider's silk. All she had felt quickly retreated back into a void of nothingness as though they were never there. She gasps at the sheer shock of nothingness that consumes her. It was that very moment where it all reverted back to how it should be, much like her very illusions when they blended back into reality. He had played a grave trick on the woman, one of the worst tricks that could be played. For the first time in such a long time, she had the greatest deception played upon her. The illusion of love or something like it.

Those moments where she had actually felt something in a shell that was long dead. Her humanity had faded and withered a long time ago, but this man somehow brought it all back and made her a woman capable of love and other complex feelings. She actually cared for him, actually sacrificed herself for his own wellbeing, to live to see another day. How? Why? She would rake over this in her mind without figuring out a thing.

Petra is lost within a wave of emotion and confusion mingled wildly like something broke within.

She does not venture after him even as he fades from view, his final words ring resolutely in her head like white noise. She waits frozen and blank as if something dear was taken from her but she didn't quite know what. She would quickly learn that it was all a figment, that he marred her in some unspoken way that could not be undone.

She was transformed somehow, altered by these ties that were suddenly clipped like a birds wings. She felt as though she could no longer fly. That very humanity she had allowed to die, still somehow seeped through her. By no means is she a saint, nor would she ever be one but a small sliver still dwelled deep inside of her. She has been chiselled into this trickster since she was young when she was nothing but a human. She did it to survive and then it turned into something else, a wicked game she could play.

But what were these feelings she felt? She did not love that man, but for but a moment in time she felt like she did.

Hatred coursed through her and she screams frustration and loss into the dead of night, letting her wrath flood the streets that have seemed abandoned at this hour. "ETAOIN SHRDLU" THAT NONSENSICAL PHRASE CROSSES HER LIPS, BLEEDING INTO THE NIGHT ALLOWING IT TO FADE INTO OBLIVION. There were several moments when she doesn't dare move and she is as lifeless as the corpse that stared at her with vacant eyes. She glares at those hollow dead eyes, wanting nothing more than to obliterate that face into bloody nothingness.

That vampire had better hope their paths remain uncrossed. For the trickster does not take too kindly losing at her own game. Yet something so similar to pain remains within her, but a small seed at first. It was a small seed of humanity spreading its disease of light within her rottenness. If only she had a name to curse she would have, but it was far too late for that. She threw what was left of the bodies into a nearby dumpster as if in an automatic response. Defeated and somewhat lost she drags herself home alone, wandering the streets all whilst tattered, covered with a mixture of blood and anger in her heart.