"The Dancer"

She hates going to the dances, the preparation, the longing, the exhilaration and the realisation. Each dance she goes to, her heart breaks a little more.
Dressed as ever in a blood red dress, contrasting so prettily with her white skin, the dress a prelude to the end. She is ushered into the hall, dozens of young men await her choice, desperate to be the one she chooses this time.
She knows not why they still come, even after all this time, surely they have discovered by now what happens to those she chooses. Surely they should know this, and yet they still come, desperate to be her chosen.
Uncaring, she steps forwards, and chooses one at random, it’s so much harder if she lets herself care. A young man, brown hair that falls to mask his guileless blue eyes. He’s tall, and handsome, the perfect prince, and yet she hates him. He’s so pleased to have been chosen, so eager to lead her into the dance. She wishes she could make him understand.
Across the hall she sees him, dark, blending in the shadows, across the heads of the hopefuls he shares her pain. As she dances with her chosen her eyes stay on him, drinking him in, the closest she will ever get. She knows she cannot choose him, and it’s tearing her apart.
She whirls around the floor, guided so well by the young man, she neither knows, nor wishes to know. A fleeting moment of hope, that tonight will be different, that tonight she will resist that tonight her heart won’t have to break again. A fleeting moment, that all too quickly passes.
The nameless faces look on, jealous of the man she dances with. Its almost laughable, their pitiful envy. If only they knew.
The dance is coming to an end, too soon, yet the dance has lasted forever. She knows what will come now, no matter how she resists, it will come, and she will fall again. One last look towards the shadows, to him, and she turns and leads her chosen out of the hall.
He comes, eagerly, hurrying after her, she can feel the compulsion strengthening, and soon she will be unable to fight it, too soon. She can hear his heart racing, his breath increasing, and she knows it will not be long now.
She stops and turns, his body feels too warm next to her cold skin. She leans towards him, and his lips part in anticipation, his warm breathe flows over her face. He closes his eyes, as they always do, foolish.
Her lips meet his skin, parted slightly, he shivers, and she bites down.
His eyes fly open, too late now he begins to struggle, as the blood flows she can feel his life force draining away. He grows limp, pale, and falls, he wont wake up now.
She is sated, the compulsion fades, the tang of the blood still present in her mouth. She looks down at his face, without blemish, his blue eyes, now cloudy, covered by a few strands of his brown hair. So different from Him, and as she watches, in her mind the hair morphs to black, the eyes become silver, his face more angular. She screams, backing away, turning and running, too afraid to look back.
The body will be gone by morning. And by the evening it will be time to repeat the dance.
She surveys the crowd of young hopefuls, and as she selects one, this time blonde, with hazel eyes, her eyes meet His across the room, her pain reflected a thousand times. Another piece of her heart breaks and she once again begins to dance, his eyes always following her.
And she wishes, how she wishes… but a vampire can never love a human.