The theatre hall was dark, save for the ghost light that some thought was still a stupid idea, and old myth that was suppose to lead the theatre ghosts safely away from their hiding places and be captured in the light. The doors were locked, the stage curtain drawn, the rugs cleaned. The final performance of Hamlet was finished for the current crews, and tomarrow, they would come in and sweep away the remains of another great work, and put another on instead. The music of the theatre was the dead drone of air conditioners and fans.

But the dead also walked.

Khasa Cremda came to pay her repects. She had been a lover of theatre, taken many times by men only wishing to make the harsh reality of being a bordello whore less painful. And the theatre had bore her life, giving dreams to a girl who had none but an endless night of men. She had found Shakespeare in Lex's home, and he drew her. Oh to have known the man himself, like others of her race might have! The man was an absolute lover of words, and it made her hunger for more. But the more's the pity that she was once unable to write and read. It felt at times as though she had just begun. But Shakespeare would have always drawn her.

She walked down the somberly dark rows, the chairs empty. In her mind she could see the finery of the women and the dashing men with their white shirts and ties. Her footsteps went unheard, her boots made of the softest leathers. This night she had opted for a knee length black skirt, with a jaggedly cut hem, with a long white poet's shirt with belled sleeves, sleeves that had layers upon layers, and a red velvet vest with a single silver button.

Easily, she moved onto the stage itself, and after a few moments of though, the curtain slowly drew itself open. The idea of using powers was hard for her. She truly thought that she would never be able to use them without a thought, that they would just come to her. No, this was the cause of being locked in a room for so many years. Her movements smooth as she came upon the blue glass encased ghost light. Surprising. Some mortals believed that this would save them from the creatures of the night. A little white candle in a blue cage. She smiled softly at the candle, and looked towards the high ceilings, as if to see the moon through it. She began to pace the stage, the words falling from her lips as soft as petals, the whispers clearly spoken.

"To be, or not to be, that is the question. Weither tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outragous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep, no more. And by a sleep to say we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. Tis a consumation, devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep, to sleep prechance to dream. Aye, there's the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil must give us pause."

Katherine dressed in a knee-high light-ish-black skirt, and a dark-red blouse. She wore a dark-red scarf around her neck, which was tied off to the left, and left draping on her shoulder. Over those, she had put on a grey overcoat, which was tied loosely around her waist. She tied her hair up in a bun, with an identical scarf as the one around her neck. She wore a pair of black knee-high boots. She had on dark-red eye-liner, and dark-red lipstick.

Yesterday, her History professor had given the class an assignment. The assignment included going to see Hamlet which was playing at The Last Curtain. After they had seen the play, they were to write a seven-hundred word report about the play, and the time it took place. It was due in three days, two days from tonight. She could not get off of work yesterday, so she went tonight.

She walked into the theatre, a little late. Not by much though. She promptly took her seat, trying not to make too much of a disturbance as she made her way past several people. She sat down, and watched Hamlet.

She could not stay awake for long, though she did make it half-an-hour in. Her head fell off to the side, no longer able to hold its own weight.

Soon, the play drew to an end. The actors and actresses gave their final bow, and the audience applauded. Katherine was not awaken, even though the clapping was quite loud. Soon, the audience filed out, walking past Katherine, leaving her where she was. It only took about ten minutes for the last of the them to leave, and the cast left soon after.

Katherine was left, unnoticed.

--*--

Slowly, she began to wake. The theatre was dark, which allowed her to remain in a half-sleep for longer than normal. She moaned, and picked her head up.

She was young, by vampire standards, and had not yet found all her true skills. The distraction of the stage was a lure, and indeed, it had lured her away from making quick and silent work of the sleeping girl. For only now, when the girl had awoken, had she heard her, and her soft words died on her lips instantly. She whirled, falling away from the blue hue that the ghost light casted off. She slipped easily into the shadows, and down the side aisles. carefully watching this girl.

Odd, security here was never the best, but someone would, or should, have woken the girl. Prehaps in the excitement that final nights brought, they had just shut off the lights and locked up. The ghost light lit and the theatre grown silent. Or the girl was just faking, or even prehaps, another lover of the darkened stages. Either way, she smoothly walked until she was behind the waking girl, and smiled, her fangs just peeking out from it.

Darkness. That was what surrounded Katherine, as she slowly woke from her nap. Her eyes peeked open, very slowly. Some light seeped in, but only a miniscule amount due to the theatre lights, or lack thereof. Slowly, the theatre came into view. The seats first, then the stage, then the rest. It was blurry at first, but quickly her eyes focused. She yawned, and raised her arms over her head, stretching. Her blouse was pulled tight against her chest, and when she finished stretching, she pulled it off of her. She stood up, and straightened out her skirt. She brushed it off, and looked around.

She saw the woman standing behind her.

What the--?

She took in a deep breath in surprise, and jumped back a bit. She had not expected to see anyone here, but, then again, she had not expected to fall asleep. Maybe she works here, cleaning up or something...

"Oh, sorry. I must of dozed off or something... She explained, "I'll be on my way, She stepped off to the side, and started to walk towards the woman--towards the exit.

The theatre was too dark for Katherine to notice the woman's fangs.

Istar Indora watched the two women with a silence that only the dead can master, and with a stealth that only the practiced harshness of his sire could provide. Istar was younger than the woman on stage, he knew that, he wasn’t sure why he knew, but he knew. But was age everything, was age the only path to power for the immortal undead, well of course not. Istar’s sire had been ancient, and she had loved him. Perhaps he denied that whenever the urge struck him, or when his wish for her was once again unfulfilled, but in his heart of hearts he knew she had loved him. If she hadn’t, why then would she have worked him so tirelessly, why would she have wanted him to be master of his own body, and why else would she have so well educated him?

No, Alex had loved his, of this Istar was sure. In fact it was one of the fruits of her love that drew him here tonight. She had taught him so much that schools never had, and Shakespeare had been one of his favorites, one of her favorites too.

Istar had watched the play, watched and in his mind greeted the characters as it he were but once again visiting old friends.

“It is nice to see you again Hamlet! I do, hope Ophelia is well, and how may I ask is Horatio? Is Gertrude as spry as ever?”

Just hearing that the play was in town had drawn Istar here, he had watched performance after performance, and each one he watched, he would think of Alexia, his sire and the nights they would spend discussing not only Hamlet, but all the magic of Shakespeare. Istar had gotten to know all the plays so intimately, and Othello became his favorite, yet time and time again he would go back to Hamlet as well, for he knew that it was Alex’s favorite.

Oh, she had never told him so mind you, she had wanted him to discover the playwright and in fact all literature, for himself, yet he could always see it in her eyes a she declared Hamlet’s lines with utter conviction, or let Ophelia’s tragic madness fall from her lips. Alex had loved Hamlet, it had been her favorite.

Sitting in the theater, thinking of the past. Indora had found himself doing this again and again. He would sit and look at the stage, once it was empty and imagine Alexia there, decked out in one of the costumes he had seen on the long gone actors. Alex would once again spout her lines, and Istar would cry his tragic blood tears.

Tonight however had gone differently. Istar had covered his presence as best he could, with the appearance of the other. He shielded his mind as Alex taught him, and from his place in the shadows he had watched. When the strange immortal had began to spout the oh so familiar lines, he had thought of joining her. Now he was unsure, still he shielded and watched the progress between the woman and the girl.

He stood the perfect shadow, in his easy black suit. Armani it was, three pieced; black coat with shiny pearl buttons, black trousers, and a black dress shirt with all its parts starched to sharp perfection. Only the perfect and bloody sanguine of his tie made the suit seem more than a mourner’s monochromatic. The tie had no design save for three ebony blood-esq drops that seemed darker, to make the suit itself darker, against the vibrant red. Also as was Istar’s trend, Italian leather adorned his feet and waist, and his flow of ebony hair was pressed backward under his fedora, complete with its little crimson band and feather.

"Two please"

The man today had dressed his best; he loved the theatre with a passion. He had no one to share his second ticket with however because everyone hated him so. He wanted her to come, so they could talk and he could express his feelings for her and how he wanted to watch the theatre as they did before. But she would not come; his thoughts and dreams were wasted on an eternity of hatred.

Moving over to the stairs in the all too familiar lobby Aracind touched the cool steel railing as he ascended the stairs to the dress circle. How could he have been so stupid, to throw everything away and let hundreds of mortals die in front of his eyes and in the end... get blamed for it all.

He heard the actors speaking on stage delivering their dialogue to the audience, he was later. For the first time in his life he was late to the theatre.

Rushing up to his private box, which he had paid for prior his arrival, he sat down silently. He was not engulfed by the play so suddenly as he had been in the past, but instead it took him some time to come to realise that no one sat beside him.

It was his own doing, and he would eventually pay for them.

Noting down in the crowd the odd immortal he did not smile or even note them instead he watched and tried not to think of her. Llehena, no... he would not think of her.