Description
A time came in Jezebel's nightmares when her instinct was no longer to scream in terror, but to instead growl in a manner entirely unfitting for prey. What prey of this monster would dream of snapping his neck with her own bloodied teeth? She did, apparently. And he was not fond of that idea at all. So as Jezebel poured her morning coffee, he watched. He watched from above, and he watched from below. He watched her leave at exactly six in the morning, and he watched her arrive at presciently nine every night, lugging the same worn book bag that her mother once did. Yes, the wench's mother was a great deal of trouble as well, he thought to himself. After all, it was she who had anchored his soul to eternal damnation so long ago. But the time had come for her daughter to pay in full, and soon, very soon indeed, he would be free.
Prelude
