Joaquin Lowe

It's late at night when the memory comes for me, like it always seems to when the relief of sleep seems ready to draw me under.

I could just like down, right here, and let the sand cover me like a blanket. But my legs, clumsy as they've become, keep stumbling forward on their own. I'm not frightened and I'm not sorry. Not even a little bit. Nikko and I shared this fate, six years apart. We both walked into the desert, and we will both have died out here, under the wide open sky. At this moment, I feel closer to him than I have in years. Maybe that's what Endd meant when she said that none of us are ever truly alone.

The road home is tinged with regret and the road forward is full of the unknown.

After drinking the blood I feel inches closer to death, but resolved to live. I've drunk blood. I can do anything. I'm the vampire girl. I crawl close to the fox and press myself against it. It's still warm. That's how sleep takes me, with blood on my face, holding close to the fading warmth.