Her alabaster eyes open upon the blackness that surrounds her. Bracing her hand against the cold granite she shoves the heavy lid of the sarcophagus aside and rises. Her white flesh reflects the flickering light from the wall torches illuminating the empty hall. Pale blue veins, like lines across a map, run along the surface of her arms, her neck, her chest and cheeks. Her thin fingers flex as she scrapes her hard, black nails along the side of the stone coffin. She hisses with delight as the sound of it echoes against the walls of the Crypt, while in the corners, armored guards stand ridged and alert.
Alexandria hisses once more and a retainer appears from the shadows. Together they climb the stairs to the empty rooms above. Here she sits before a desk upon which lies a thick, heavy journal. She holds out her hand and the retainer places a vial of red liquid in her palm. Removing the seal she drinks the thick elixir, letting it loll over her tongue like a rich, vintage wine. She hissed as her eyes roll back and a shudder racks her body. A moment later her eyes have turned a more normal ice blue while her complexion takes on a life-like hue.
Gently, reverently, she opens the book. As she does it gives out a mournful, unnatural sigh and the odor of rotting flesh fills the room. Taking quill in hand she dips the metal tip in a well of thick stale blood and begins to write.
