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From: Bryon
The sun was set low in the sky on this cold afternoon, and Bryon was buried beneath a blanket in his bathtub, lost in sleep after a long and surreal night, part of which had been spent at the Prince’s nightclub. The Ventrue were so neat and spotless on the surface, but tensions had rippled in the air. And the timid Malkavian who had been willing to help him, and been so enigmatic, the meeting with her was able to partly pull him out of the stupor he had been in since Aela had left. Since then, the nights seemed devoid of passion, cold and lifeless, and he moved through them like a cold-blooded reptile. But the days were even worse.
As usual, his dreams were of her. She would show him the key to a door deep within the darkness, below the surface of the city. There, they would make love until the stars went black.
But today, this pattern was broken by glimpses of an empty, brown-gray room without doors or windows. In it would be a girl, sitting against the wall. Isobel. Her eyes were cold and empty as she crawled around on her hands and knees, seeming to look for something. Until she found him. Isobel gabbed him by the throat, and her eyes seemed to light up with sadistic joy as she drained the blood, as well as the life from his body. Her limbs grew stronger, her hair darker and her face more marked as his features in turn withered away and crumbled. While she ravaged him, the skin on her back cracked open, and thousands of tiny silvery needles seemed to erupt from the gash. These slivers of steel clung together like magnets, covered in black-red blood, and thrashed about while forming two distinct limbs like shimmering static. They folded out in all their splendour, revealing angelic wings composed in their entirety of these tiny, sharp needles, each one dripping with his own blood. And when this celestial demon turned around, her face was that of Aela Vilette.
He woke without much difficulty, into yet another night. Alone.