Because we don't know when we are going to die, we get to think of life as an inexhastable well and we treat it as a treasure beyond all other treasures, but we don't realize that life is just the road to death, until death is upon us. When I die, what a glorious day that will be!

Morose had always been solumn, while he was in the orphanage, the day he left the orphanage, and even now, tonight, as he sat, perchhed like a bird atop of a headstone, one belonging to a Mr. Silas Shaphero 1983-2003, suceeded by no one. Poor guy, he'd had no children, no family at all. No one to love him. Morose was silent and motionless, a book in hand, a rose in the other.

No disrespect was intended by this act, in fact, Morose had the upmost respect for the dead. He believed in their souls, the after life, and in heaven, hell, and purgatory. Morose was reading a book written by the mentioned Mr. Shephero. "the world from a wolf's eyes." The title had interested Morose, not because the title specifically but because he'd known what Silas really was...the reason he'd hung himself in redway park one night after a full moon.

Morose was a tall and thin man, a shock of red hair on his head and slight sideburns begining. His hair was all cut into semi-short spikes, two long strands of hair, one on eaither side of his face, hund to his chest. His eyes were a piercing blue, which was rather unusual for a red-head, since people with red hair tend to have darker eyes of greens and browns. His face was nice enough, nothing overly special, outside of the eyes. His whoulders are thin, like the rest of his body. The pants he wore only brought out the thinness. They fit on the waist, only twenty eight inches around, and the legs of the pants were wide, flaring out to cover his boots. He wore a chain belt and a fishnet shirt tucked into the pants. The ever-present trenchcoat hung on his shoulders, made from leather, it trailed down behinde him, pooling on the dirt behinde the headstone. He squat ontop of the headstone, balanced on his toes, resting on his heels, elbows on knees and the book held out in one hand, a long steamed, thorny red rose sealed in clear wax hung from the other hand.

Morose Riddle was alone, he'd left Jex in the hotel room he'd purchased for the night. He'd tol the kid to shower, he was tired of smelling the bum. He himself had taken a quick shower and left. The man didn't like to talk, he was a silent soul meant to be alone, so in hiring Jex, he hadn't obtained his 'Morose time' for sevral days. Now he was getting what he needed. He was completely absorbed in his reading, though not so much so that he wasn't carefully paying attintion to his surroundings. It wasn't too hard to notice something living and breathing and moving around in the resting place of the dead.


((Reserved for souls))

She watched him silently hidden in the dark shadows of the night. Her green eyes never leaving him. She had followed him here. She didn't know why. Something about him intrigued her. So ever so silently, as was her way, she had followed him here. She watched him as he perched himself atop the tombstone.

Her eyes looked him over from head to toe. His red hair was shortish and spiked. She had caught a glimps of his piercing blue eyes. They were stunning. She was in awe of his eyes. She'd never seen a red head with blue eyes. Only browns and greens. He was tall and thin. Her eyes danced over his clothing. The pants that shown just how thin he was. She could see that they flared out and covered the boots he was wearing. She noted the chain belt around his waste. As her eyes traveled up she looked at his fishnet shirt that was tucked into his pants. She especially took a fance to his leather trench coat.

She noted the book he held in one hand. As her eyes continued to travel over him she spotted the red rose that he held in the other. She wondered what it was for. She continued to silently watch him from those dark shadows she hid in.

After a long time, maybe two hours after ariving, Morsoe closed the book with a clasping sound, not bothering to mark the page. The number of the page was burnt into his memory. He closed his eyes for a breif moment of reflection, twisting the long stemed rose between his fingers. He had small cuts on his fingers, probably from the rose, and the other roses he'd held in the past.

He raised up to his full height on the headstone before steping off and landing beside the fresh grave with a heavy thud from the boots beneath those baggy pants. He stepped aorund in a measrued sort of way and squat down to the same position as previously, only this time, ontop of the grave.

"You certinally did have it hard, Silas, my friend." Morose hadn't actually known Silas in life, but he'd befriended the grave, the name, the soul of the ex-werewolf. "But that was no reason to end it so soon, my friend. You could have found help. Ask and you will receive."

His blue eyes looked at the headstone as he spoke, as if that was his form of enbodiment. He placed the book on the grave, leaning aginst the headstone. A photograph of the Author, a handsom young, very young man with long bone white hair, and on the other half of the cover, a wolf with blood reddened eyes and bone white fur.

"Rest peacfully tonight my friend." He twisted the red rose in his hands still, cutting them up with little scratches.

She still stood silently in the dark shadows watching the man. She watched as he closed the book as well as his eyes. She was filled with curiousity as he twisted the rose between his fingers. She noticed the cuts that it left. She licked her lips at the sight of the blood. But not yet. She surprised herself at that thought. Why not yet? She was hungry. But yet she couldn't bring herself to attack this one like she did everyone else. She returned her gaze to him.

He was indeed quite tall she noted as he rose to a standing position and stepped off the tombstone. Her eyes danced with curiousity as he squated down ontop the grave. She listened closely as he began to speak. Did he know this one? She wasn't sure.

She watched silently as he placed the book on the grave and leaned it against the tombstone. Her eyes shifting to the book cover for a brief moment and then back to him. Her eyes returned to the hand that held the rose. She again licked her lips as the cuts began to form little droplets of blood. She stood silently. Well hidden. She knew he couldn't see her.

Naturally he didn't hear her, but he had a lurking feeling on the back of his neck. Like the feeling you get when someones watching you. Or with his faith in the existing after life, a better example would be the feeling you get when you walk through a ghost or vise-versa. He stood up again, the twisting of the rose paused in his hand, as he looked around, observing the area carfully. Seeing no one, he looked back down at the grave. He was, after all in a Cemetery, and so he easily wrote the feeling off as a lurking soul.
Silently, Morose tucked the thorny rose behind his ear, also scratching the flesh there, also there were scars there, though the two long strands hid this nicely. The scars said one thing, he always tucked a rose back there. With the rose tucked safely behind his ear and the book propped aginst the headstone, Morose stepped back off of the Grave, bending over and brushed his footprints out of the dirt. He stood back up to his height of six feet and slowly his thin boney hand with long fingers came up and touched his forhead, then down to his chest, the shoulder to shoulder, crossing himself in a form of blessing Silas' soul. He turned away from the grave. "Good night, Friend."

As she watched him standing up and begin to look around she silently moved further into the shadows so as to not be seen at all for sure. She didn't want to be seen. She wanted to study this one more. She knew she would have to be going soon though. Daylight hours weren't that far away.

She watched with great interest as the guy continued to twirl the rose in his fingers for a few moments more causing more cuts. The cuts forming more droplets of blood. Her eyes followed his hand as he tucked the rose behind his ear.

Her eyes couldn't seem to leave him as he stepped off the grave and brushed his footprints away. He was so tall. At least 6 foot she guessed. She stepped back a bit more as he made a cross sign on himself.

As he turned away from the grave her eyes stayed on his face. Those piercing blue eyes. Something about them. She wanted to step out of the shadows but didn't. Not yet. It wasn't time yet. She wanted to study him more. She knew it would take a while before she finally showed herself to him. For now she kept silent hiding in the darkest shadows.

Morose still didn't see her, but he shook slightly, his shoulders and his shoulders and his head, trying to shake the feeling of being watched, though not brush it away. When he shook, the rose fell from behinde his ear. He watched it fall, then stared down at it for a moment, letting it lay peacfully in the dirt.

Finally the red head brought his hand to his mouth and sucked off the little bit of blood from small scratches while squatting down. He shook his head, blue eyes still on the rose. Finally he picked it up. He stood up again, holding th rose by it's stem, though the flower part of the rose faced down towards the ground. He stepped to the next grave and looked it over. He crossed himself and stepped onto the next.

He looked around again with the blue gaze, for whatever it was causing that feeling.

As she watched him shake slightly she began to wonder if he knew he was being watched. She knew he couldn't see her. She was too well hidden. She watched as the rose fell to the ground. Her eyes followed the rose and slowly rose back up to him. He stood there just looking at it laying in the dirt.

As he brought his hand up to his mouth with the droplets of blood on it she opened her mouth slightly. No sound came from her. She watched with increasing interest as he sucked off the droplets of blood. Oh how she wanted to do that. She closed her eyes for a moment. In her thoughts she could see herself pinning him to the ground and draining his life away. She opened her eyes to continue to watch him.

She frowned slightly as she watched him make the sign of the cross again. That was the one thing she hated the most. The cross. The sunlight was of course the other thing she hated the most for she knew that it would be the end of her if she got caught in it.

He began stepping to yet another grave. She brought herself a bit backwards into the shadows more as his piercing eyes gazed around. That was when she realized that he was indeed aware that he was being watched. But still she stayed hidden.

He peered at this grave, not any longer then the previous one, but again, he shook his head, squared his shoulders, and crossed himself, blessing the soul of that person's body, whereever that soul might be. He stepped on to yet, the next bed and stopped, lifting his eyes again, peering around again. He shrugged his shoulders in a fashion of one shrugging a jacket off the shoulders.

It was probably some animal, creeping around the grave, attracted to the smell of death, the smell that humans can't smell through six feet of dirt. Maybe. Or maybe it was a soul, He continued to peer around with those blue eyes. Or maybe some kid spying on what they thought was the night time watch in the cemetery. Which was fine as long as they didn't come out trying to pull some child prank.

He crossed himself in blessing to the soul and moved on to the next one, the rose still hanging lightly between his fingers. Her tucks one strand of the long strip of hair behinde his ear as he read that name too. He looked pale standing there in the moonlight like that, his height causing him to stand taller then anything in the cemetery except for the statues, and the way he would pause every few feet, he almost looked like a walking skeleton.

He'd been through this cemetery twice this week but it never hurt to come back and check. After all, comming a second time hadn't hurt, he'd found Silas' grave and it'd inspired him to finally buy the book the white-haired man in the coffee shop had told him he'd written.

As she hid in the shadows watching him moving from grave to grave she realized he was searching for something. But what? She wasn't sure. But she was curious. She watched as he kept looking up trying to figure out who or what was watching him. She almost smiled at that.

She cringed everytime he made the sign of the cross on himself. She continued watching his every move.

((sorry it's not very long or detailed...i'm not a very good stalker LOL))

Again, he crosed his chest, not completely ignoring the sense of being watched. It was dangerous to feel your being watched and ignor it. Thats how people suprise you.

He sighed once more. Moving on. He stepped into the next straight row of headstones. The last row for the night. Not you. Cross to bless the soul, your not what I'm looking for eaither. Another cross.He began to twist the rose in his hands again.

As he moved from grave to grave it appeared he was reading the tombstones. What is he looking for? She wondered to herself.

As he moved to the next row she crept along in the shadows. She was careful not to step on anything that would give her away. She wanted to have a better view of him. A closer view. But not too close.

She watched with hunger as he started twisting the rose in his hands again. Oh how she wanted to just leap out right now and take care of her hunger. But there was something stopping her.

He continues to read the stones, shake his head, deny that one, and cross himself in a silent respectful blessing of the souls. Again, this cemetery wasn't yeilding any results., What did he expect? To come here a third time and find things different then before? Sadly, he'd carefully tucked away that little bit of impossible hope.

He came upon the last stone and shook his head. This wasn't it. For the third night of visiting this cemetery, he wanted to throw a fit, but insted, he dropped himeslf to his knees, now standing on his knees on the dirt of this grave. He crossed himself.

"Damn it." A soft mutter. It was spoken in an audioable whisper, his voice a soft and sweet tenor.

She watched as he dropped to his knees. It appeared he hadn't found whatever it was he was looking for. But what was he looking for? She wasn't sure if she could control her curiousity much longer.

She was close enough that she had heard his whisper. His soft sweet voice. She smiled sorta. But it didn't last as her brows creased into a frown. What was it that was preventing her from killing him right now? Right here. While he was down on his knees. It would be so easy. Or at least she thought so.

Morose crossed his chest again, blessing the soul after swearing, damning it. It was a form of apology, of amends perhapes. "I'm sorry friend." He said to the dead man in the grave. "I just hoped you wouldn't be you."

He crossed his chest yet again and then sat back onto his heels. He dropped his hands to his lap, rose still between his fingers, and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. THroat exposed, it looked like he was looking to heaven. It was an act born out of pure stress.

She couldn't stand it any longer. Seeing him so easily expose his throat. Quietly she stepped out of the shadows. She was maybe 4 feet away from him.

"Have you lost something?" she asked softly with a curious but amusing tone to her voice. Her own voice was quite angelic in tone. Her fangs were no where to be seen at the moment. With the exception of her pailish color one would be hard pressed to point her out as a vampire. Her skin tone could be laughed aside as prefering to not be like those girls you see out in the sun constantly. She stayed standing where she was.

He didn't open his eyes, he didn't lower his head, he didn't stand. In fact, he didn't move at all. He remained the way he was, as if it didn't matter that this might be rude./ His throat remained exposed. (Don't bite yet, form that relationship hate/trust bond between them first.)

"Many things," he replied, still not openeing those blue eyes. "Parents, toys, friends...sanity....manners...money." Smartass.

((I know. I wasn't planning on it. Her curiousity got the better of her.))

She just stood there. Not making a move towards him but yet not turning to leave either. She forced her gaze away from his throat to look at his face. His eyes were still closed.

"You're the first that I've ever seen looking for those things by reading grave markers," she had a sarcastic tone in her voice as she spoke. When dealing with a smart ass she resorted to the same.

He opened one eye to glance at her, the other remaining closed. His blue gaze looked at her face, no strying to anything else, just her face.

"Maybe I lost a body."

A soft chuckle. Sadly, that really was what he'd lost. He twists the rose between boney fingers again.

She continued standing there. She hadn't shifted her weight at all. It didn't bother her. Not at all. She gazed at him with her bright green eyes. A gentle breeze blew at that moment and caused some of her long red hair to flow across her face. She ignored it.

"And how does one go about losing a body?"

He closed his eye again, lifted his head back to a normal position faceing the headstone and onpened both eyes. He didn't look at her. He continued to twist the rose between his fingers in silance.

"Maybe it just got up and walked off."

Still, he didn't look at her, though he realized the lurking 'being watched feeling' was gone. It'd been her.

She laughed then at his words.

"Right. Like that would really happen." She was laying the sarcasm on thick at this point.

"Is this how you treat all friendly strangers? Or maybe it's just women."

"The wrold could do without women." He replied, not that he truely believed thqat, mostly just to get back at her for watching him. Why are you being so spitful tonight Morose? Oh yeah! You can't find him still! "Hell, the world can do without a lot of things." He leaned forward over the grave and dropped the rose ontop of it. "Sleep well," he mumbled to the burried corpse. He licked the blood off of his finger tips.

She laughed at his words. She found them quite comical actually.

When her laughter stopped she returned her gaze to him and watched as he placed the rose on the grave he had been kneeling in front of. She watched him lick the blood off his finger tips. She made no movement. Gave no sign of what she was. She appeared to be but a mere woman watching him. Her 5 foot 4 inch frame just standing there. Ever so curious.

"Without women the world would be no more," she replied flatly. Not that she really cared for she couldn't bear children anyway. That had been taken from her so long ago.

He looked at her from the corrner of his eyes before returning his attintion to the grave and crossing his chest in a silent blessing. Then he stood, towering over her by eight inches, discluding the red spikes on his head.

"And there might be less evil in the universe." He replied, flatly this time instead of tauntingly. He glanced over her once now. "Besides, with todays technology, we can make babies in a test tube or petri dish."

She forced herself not to flinch as he made the sign of the cross once again. She really wished he would stop doing that. It was annoying her very much. The sun and the cross...her 2 main weaknesses.

She watched as he stood up. She had to move her head upwards to be able to continue to see his face. She stepped forward to the tombstone and leaned a bit on it.

"Ah but what fun is it to make babies in test tubes and petri dishes?" She had returned her normal angelic voice to her speaking. She had grown up being told she had the voice of an angel. She was as proud of her voice as she was her looks.

He looked away from her. "I wouldn't know." He replied. He'd never bothered himself with silly relationships and sex. In fact, he'd never bothered himself with much socializing, until he'd met Zach, but then Zach was gone and he was back to the anti-social creature he really was.

He looked at her again. Test tube babies were fine by him, those artifical creatures with their minds already made up for them, their sex hand chosen rather then through true nature.

She raised one eyebrow in surprise at his 3 simple words. She was sincerely surprised. Surprised that someone with such a beautiful face such as his wouldn't know the joys of sexual relations.

"A virgin are you?" It was a mixture of a question and a comment. Her voice still soft, gentle, angelic.

She watched him with interest as he looked away from her and then back. She reached out her tiny hand expecting a hand shake. "I'm Enyo." Her brittish accent was strong in her words.

He looked at her hand, noting her fancy to correctness and mannerism. He took that small hand into his own hand with the long boney fingers. He felt like he was touching a doll. He brought her hands to his lips but they didn't quite make it all the way before he released her hand. It was sort of a show of old english manners without actually commiting to the touch.

"I'm not sure who I am." He introduced himself. "But you can call me Morose Riddle."

She nodded her head down in a slight bow as he raised her hands towards her lips and released her hand before making it all the way. It was a bow of respect of sorts.

"'Tis a pleasure to meet you Mr. Riddle. I am Enyo Boivin." Her brittish accent was strongest as she said her name, especially her last name.

She brought her hand back to her side and studied him. "How can one now know for sure who they are?"

"Beats me," he replied with a slight shrug. He slouched a little, feeling overly tall in the presance of someone so much shorter then himself. The slouch lowered him a whole woping inch.

While her english was fair and pretty, he was brutally killing the language. It flowed from her tongue, it come from his as if he rarely spoke it,

She watched as he tried to make himself look not so tall. She laughed a soft and gentle laugh. "No need to feel bad for being so much taller than I. It doesn't take much to be taller than I."

She studied his face some more. She found herself so intrigued by him. But why? She honestly didn't know. "So what is it that you are searching for here in a cemetary?" She was still very curious about that.

"I told you before," he replied to her question first. "I lost a body." No one would really guess that he was being serious when he said this, most would take it as a joke or a way of saying 'Mind your own."

"And I don't feel bad about being taller." This was said firmly, to be sure she got it clear. "I thought you might." Actually, he'd done it unconciously, usually he slouched pretty bad in the shoulders anyways, the plague of Skoliosis.

She raised an eyebrow. "And what does this body look like? Does it have a name?"

She laughed a bit at his comment about thinking she would feel bad about him being so tall. "I've grown used to be shorter than most everyone else. At least I'm not a midget however."

Her voice was so soft and angelic with that brittish accent. She was being sincerely friendly with him. She was still curious as to why she wasn't allowing herself to just pounce on him. Ah well. She'd get her meal later elsewhere.

He ignores her question about the body. "People usually grow used to their heights when they have to live with it," he replied, "Unless you know a way not to have to deal with your height." Back to smartass-ism. Morose had been this tall since he was seventeen.

Morose pushed his hands in his pockets now, peering around the yard at the neatly kept greenery, the gray and marble stones, the angelic statues. "Did you know it's illegal to take flowers from someone's grave unless your going to replace them."

She stood there. Watching him. She watched him shove his hands in his pockets and look around. What was on his mind she wondered. She listened as he spoke about taking flowers from someone's grave.

"No. I didn't know that. Of course I've never taken nor left flowers on anyone's grave. I've not had anyone close to me die so I don't really pay any attention to stuff like that."

"I see." He replied simply. He frowned, his hands still stuffed in the pockets. "Consider yourself lucky then."

He'd lost a lot, not all to death though, which almost made it all seem worse. Because his hands were in his pockets, the fishnet shirt pulled up a little at the sleeves, showing pale wrists, one wristband. His eyes wandered to her for a moment and then returned to the headstone. He wasn't good with being a smartass, let alone holding a conversation in the first place.

Lucky? If it's lucky to have been turned into a vampire I suppose. She didn't say these thoughts out loud. Nor would she. A momentary sadness crept through her eyes.

She began to grow uncomfortable with the silence. How strange was that? She who loved silence was growing uncomfortable with it. She wasn't one who was fond of idle conversation either.

"Read any good books lately?" Who knows why she asked this question. Maybe to kill the silence that had fallen between them?

He chuckled. To him, the conversational topic she picked flatly told him that she'd been the one that had been watching him while he'd read Silas' book, put it on the grave, walked the cemetery.

"Spy on any red haired night walkers lately?" It was obvious what he meant by that.

Smart ass.

Morose's blue eyes turned to her with basic amusment in them.

She was able to blush only because she had eaten before following him here. Why was she blushing? Who knows...

"I...uh..." her voice trailed off. She was..embarassed? She truly was. It was an odd feeling as it was one she hadn't felt in many, many years. She suddenly found herself speechless.

She looked down at the tombstone that was between them...trying to find something to say...but not succeeding.