The eyes are the windows to the soul. They are what embrace the scenes of life, and cause the mind to witness events. They hold pain, they hold a hunger humans tamped down centuries ago. To unlock the heart, is to constrict the eyes from seeing what is really there. Events in one's life that are horrible, even macabre, seem to permanently scar what we are as living creatures. Alexander's eyes, for example, held a surprisingly deep amount of emotions, but they were locked away in the recesses of dilated pupils, trapped by chains of shame.
Some could argue he had a blessing. He was stronger than a human, could hear and see better than them. He could even alter what he looked like. What they chose to keep out of it, was how he sustained himself. This carnal hunger that had infected his internal workings turned him into a monster, craving living, breathing flesh but having to feed off the dead instead. He had gathered enough information about the world he now existed in. He skirted around preferring to hole up in a abandoned house when he wasn't feeding.
The dusk turned into night, blending light rose of setting sun with the swarthy indigo of the coming twilight. The walls of the loft seemed to bend a bit, and he sat in a corner, running long fingers over his dagger, the one with a symbol scrolled so elegantly. Most of his features had been scratched out in fits of inhuman rage every time he killed. Now that the city had become dead central, humans were safer from him. They resided in Safe Haven, where he sometimes would think about.
They had to be highly intelligent, resourceful too. In this day and age, wits could overcome strength. He laid his head against the wall he was propped on, a dust mote floating in his line of sight. His gaze zeroed on it, watching its linear trek end on the fabric of his shirt, which was caked in droplets of fallen blood. He grew bored quickly, instead gazing out of the window at the streets below, the silent lament of what used to be. The world had imploded upon its own anathema, paid the toll to cross the Styx, and Alexander remained in the nuclear fallout of the decision.
Life in Safe Haven wasn't treating Alexander badly, but he couldn't be bothered to stay within its confines. He just couldn't -- he wouldn't -- let himself remain safe (if anyone was truly safe anymore) while there might be others stranded, starving, cornered. He had been all of those things at one time, and more, before being graciously allowed into Safe Haven. Though he chose to reside on the outskirts, he wasn't alone.
