Frigid was her hands, though I never paid much attention until now. I am a vampire hunter, yet I am a vampire. Ironic. Never have I shared this secret, but she mentally provoked me in the deepest of my thoughts. Moonlight crept hesitantly before us whilst treading upon the barren churchyard. Rats scurried swiftly into fissures hidden within crumbling tombs. The moon now stood over us, as if glaring. Crows eyed us, cocking their heads from side to side. She gripped my hand tightly, so tight that my own changed into a hideous shade of purple. A low growl reverberated into the warm evening air, she left my grasp to then lay her body against mine, gently rubbing my back. My hair bristled. I immediately felt a pang of pain in my chest. Looking down, a slender, splintered stake lay wedged in my chest. My heart beating painfully against the wood, she stood before me, caressing my cheek. Whispering in my ear, she spoke, “A witch never gets caught. Don’t forget that she has magic in her fingers and devilry dancing in her blood.”( - Roald Dahl )Her silhouette altered into my greatest fear. A werewolf.