Weak. He hated that word with such a passion. In the dictionary, it's definition states that it means, 'a generic adjective pertaining to a lack of strength. The opposite of strong.' But that's what he wanted to be. Strong. It wasn't saying that he wasn't strong physically, of course. Vampires naturally gain rather amazing growth of muscles, along with amazing powers. Though mentally, well... That was just plainly a different story. When he was a mortal, he already suffered chronic depression. But ever since he was turned, his emotions became exactly what he had honestly became. Dead.

He hadn't tried to drain blood from people. He already had been vegan. Human was a type of animal, in a sense. Drinking their blood would make him weak. Feel oh so weak... Though he had almost died. So, he was forced by another to drink blood. And ever since, he couldn't stop. He was addicted, like a smoker to cigarettes. Like a crack head on cocaine. He was stuck. And like those who try to stay vegetarian, but then suddenly eat a piece of juicy steak, he felt betrayed. It was no ones fault but his own. He betrayed himself. He was weak.

No one could hear him walking. He was a floating disembodied spirit wandering around, with no purpose. He had no purpose. It was as simple as that. All he brought was misery, and hatred. When he drank, it would make the other either vampire, or dead. Thus, he was hated apon. Sure, he had tried to just plainly steal blood bags from hospitals, but those ran out so quickly. And from the sudden disappearance of blood, security became tighter. He had to go back to his weakness, once again.

And now, all Pete Lewis Kingston Witt III did was lay in his coffin, his throat unsatisfactorily dry, his hazel and crimson rimmed eyes staring in a glowing haze at the ceiling above him. He didn't want to give in, he just couldn't... Though after two hours of just doing that, he finally flew out from his room and into the night, off to feed. He was weak.

Eyes gazing at one single person walking innocently in the woods, he had found his prey. And in one single motion, knocking the man's head very hard on the bark of a tree, making him unconscience, he sucked his blood dry. No more breaths remained in the body, as his soul danced up to the heavens questionably. Life as a vampire was far more worse than death... And knocking him out before sucking his blood released away any further pain than the bump on the head. Yet again, he had to kill for food. Weak...

Each time he killed, he brought his bodies back with him to a secluded place. Just near the gardens, so flowers were nearby. There, empty holes that he himself dug up, remained. And once there, he'd bury the body. Once filled up, he would always walk over to the edge of the garden, pick a single rose, and lay it apon the patch of fresh ground. And that was exactly what he did...

Though after he completed his ritual, he heard a sigh of breath nearby. Vampire's hearing was extremely well. Their senses were higher than anyone elses. And glancing up in the way of the sound, he caught sight of a vampire he had a few times made acquaintance with. Lizz was her name, and he remembered her well.

Walking over to her, he looked up at the sky, and back to her. Hands in pockets, he finally spoke, "Dreaming of life beyond your own?"

Pete listened as she spoke, his eyebrow raising upward. "Plans on being a poet, or something, McCartney?" He exclaimed with a smirk, before sitting on the top of the bench next to her own. Folding his hands together, he let his eyes wander up to the stars she was gazing at. He caught sight of the Little Dipper, soon followed by the Big Dipper. Meaning that Scorpius should be somewhere around here... Aha. The moon was a beautiful pale glow, completely full, and it just matched the sight perfectly. Especially with the dark clouds slowly rolling in over it.

Once more, he looked at her slightly when she started looking at him. Really, he thought what she said just about explained it all... In a rather beautiful manner, really. His fingers reached out towards a black rose, and he carefully plucked it. Delicately, he let it roll around in his hands, being careful of the thorns. They really were very beautiful, even in their death. Why couldn't all dead things end up that way?

"...Am I that ugly, or something?" He asked with a grin, looking fully over towards her. "Whenever you talk to me, you look away. And when you do look at me, you don't speak at all. What's up?" Though, he could tell what she was thinking most of the time. Her eyes were so full of emotions, it was crazy. And it was strange, because the rest of her was so... immobilized.