She cried as she fed. The tears streaked clean lines down her blood-soaked face. Sobs racked her chest, tight with terror and strange, dark power. Her fingers ached. She let her head hang in shame, blood dripping off of her chin into her dark lap in the moonlight. Her arms were soaked to the elbow in thick, clotting blackness. The blood of a young man pooled in her lap, sticking to her thighs under her shredded skirt.
The scent of fresh flesh stung her nostrils, her hunger rose. Whimpering, she held a morsel before her eyes. The tears rose again, uncontrollable, as she lifted it to her mouth. The hunger was unbearable, like a rift in her belly, threatening to tear her in half.
Her head pounding, roaring like a great dragon, she leaned over his body. She bit off another chunk, its tang sharp and horribly delicious. Her mind raced, trying desperately to reconcile her hunger and her nature. No longer in control, her thoughts drifted and slowed, congealing, as her body took over, feeding.
Everything faded, her sanity slipped. Her vision clouded, the roar growing, drowning out all else. As she faded, a different her rose, older, stronger.
She picked up a cape, standing.
It was heavy in her hand, not fabric but woven metal.