<span style="font-family:Philosopher">As he colored in Katherine's cheeks with a coloring pencil, his head jerked up in surprise when he heard the screech that felt like nails on a chalk board, anger and contrition warring on his features. The anger faded when he saw it had been Katherine. He watched silently as he approached to the front. He leaned forward and placed the clipboard containing his portrait of Katherine face down on the desk. He did not know why he could smell the anger radiating off of Katherine. Did she think he would simply remain forever as a student? Her outburst was directly after he had announced that it was his last day. He was unsure really. He could only watch as she walked over to the desk and looked down at him as if he had slapped her! And, to add insult to injury, she dumped her entire project in to the dustbin and retreated from the classroom. <br/>
<br/>
After the class was over, he had taken her project out of the dustbin and graded it. It was good, her writing on Stalin's policies regarding healthcare particularly interesting, and he ended up giving it a perfect grade. It was the last thing he would grade for the class. <br/>
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Over the next week, he had done his best to see her. Driving by her house was a no go. She or her family would notice. He had been forced to visit her bedroom window at night while she slept. Every night he had fought not to open her window and just finish it. Instead, he began to craft what he planned to do with her. Elaborate ideas of either draining her slow and then killing her or doing it quick and fast. His imaginary plans kept him from killing her just yet and he consoled himself sipping blood-tinged wine when he returned to his sprawling, empty home, reading old novels that had suffered so much from linguistic drift that he doubted sincerely if most people would be able to read the script.<br/>
<br/>
By the time Saturday night had come around and he was slowly being driven mad. He paced his living room back and forth, the portrait of Katherine tacked to the wall so that everytime he turned around to complete a revolution of his steps, he was met with her face. He growled as he met her face again and roared,"I CAN'T KILL HER YET!" He said to the silent inquirries from the portrait. In a much quieter voice he continued,"If I did it now, it wouldn't be right. The timing has to be perfect. The flower allowed to bloom." He stopped suddenly and raised a hand."But soon... yes... soon."<br/>
<br/>
It was at that time his phone decided to ring and he was delighted and surprised when he discovered that it was Katherine. As he listened to her slurred speech, he felt his fangs descend and he couldn't keep the smile from his face. When the phone call was over, he returned the phone to his pocket and turned to the portrait."Thank you fate." He blew a kiss to Katherine the Portrait and left his house, driving quickly to downtown to find the object of his prize sitting on the curb. <br/>
<br/>
He felt a thrill at seeing so much of her flesh revealed, the perky press of her nipples against the thin fabric of her dress evident. He so desperately wanted to trail his hands up her long legs and discover what she hid there. It was a glorious time to be alive when the women wore such revealing clothing. His land of his birth, at the time of his birth, had been equally liberal and he was thrilled to see it so openly once more again.<br/>
<br/>
He slid out of his car and crossed over to look down at her."This will not do Miss Williams. I think I need to take you home." He leaned down and helped her up and headed towards the passenger side of his car.</span>