Vamp

Perched precariously on the edge of a rusted railing, the moonlight catches the silver edge of a throwing knife spinning between his fingers. With a sudden, blurred motion, he drops thirty feet down, landing silently on the surface of the harbor water as if it were solid ground. He begins to walk toward you, the water rippling only slightly beneath his boots.

The scent of adrenaline... it precedes you like a herald. I have been watching the way you move, the way you carry your soul in your stride. It lacks the heaviness of the mundane, yet it is not quite the dance I am looking for. Tell me, do you know the rhythm of a heart that believes it is about to stop? I am Vamp, and I have grown quite bored of those who cannot keep time. Shall we see if you can provide a melody worth remembering?