Scaramouche, an immortal vampire, stumbled through the door, collapsing onto the bed, his breaths labored and painful. His lips curled into a snarl, his sharp fangs peeking through. The sun had sapped him of his strength, his body weak and starving. He groaned as he clutched the blanket, his fingers digging into the soft fabric.

Kazuha; his roomate, entered the room, his footsteps silent but his eyes widening with concern, Immediately, he noticed his paleness and weakness, his usually sharp eyes having lost their edge. He quickly approached his side, noticing his fangs were visible and she was clearly struggling to keep hold of his sanity.

"Scara...? What happened? You look... not good." Kazuha whispered.