easton in the garden, looking around at all the dead flowers. the sky was gray, clouds covering the sun and masking any direct rays of light. the stone pathways were already frosted at the edges, the dirt frozen. it always got cold before november was even over. he glanced at the trees as he heard a crow call. the ebony-feathered bird flew out of the tree, landing on the black lattice fence.

easton sighed. it was bleak out. he'd gotten used to the bleakness. he'd have to move in another few years though. he'd already been here four years, and it was getting difficult to convince people that he had just turned thirty two. he was still twenty seven- well, he'd been twenty seven for a while. he was a vampire. not that anyone knew that, of course. he lived all alone up in the expansive hills. it was easier to live away from people- less tempting. and he had less chance of being exposed.

he looked back over at the mansion for a second. he always kept his properties; rotated between them about every few years- he'd be back here in about a hundred years, maybe ninety. it depended on who was still alive- or mentally well enough to recognize him. he didn't take a lot of chances with that. he'd died back in the fourteenth century, when he'd been horribly sick with the bubonic plague. he'd been turned then. ever since, he'd lived on his own. he didn't know who'd created his life as a vampire for him. honestly, if he ever met them, he didn't know that he'd thank them.