The figure stood at the edge, leaning over so that only the toes of Italian shoes touched the concrete. A smile spread over the handsome face and blue eyes glittered as he breathed in. The chilly night air seemed to rejuvenate his senses. He leaned back and drew his coat around him, giving off an air of power, of immense power. He opened his mouth and two long teeth, pointed as needles gave away his true nature. But there was no-one up here to be shocked or scared; the stars continued to twinkle and the moon lit up the world below. This rooftop was his sanctuary; he could be alone here. There were no pulsing necks, no throbbing wrists to distract him, and how he detested that feeling; he could never focus down there, surrounded by all that he lusted after; it wasn't his desire to desire so. He longed, ached to be free of his animalistic urges, but he could never attain that liberty. And, it wasn't as though his existence didn't come with plenty of rewards, plenty of excess. He had virtually unlimited time to do as he pleased; he could flit around and never be practical; his life was not slipping away. The others had to act; they were on a clock; they didn't have eternity. He did. He let his shoes slide off the edge; he was flying. Down, down he went. His mouth opened and he felt the sheer exhilaration that came with being out of control for a moment; his entire existence meant he was in control; in control of his actions, of others' actions. He could never feel thrill the way the others did; a fast car was no match for his own speed. But this, free falling without a parachute was uncontrollable; the wind moved his lean body left and right; as fast and as strong as he was, he was no match for strong winds and gravity combined. As he fell, the sky opened up and let loose it's torrents. Water whipped at him, drenched him. As thunder and lightning began, he laughed. Like a madman, he descended until, too soon, his body collided with solid ground. He picked himself up and looked around; there was no-one around-good. This would have been...difficult to explain. An alternative crossed his mind and he shook his head with disgust at himself. He did what he did to survive, not because it was easy-or shudder-enjoyable. No, he was who he was and he had to accept the darkest parts of himself, but never pleasure in them. He stood contemplating his life, his existence in the downpour; he felt as though the onslaught was purging him, cleansing his body of all that it had done and he let his mind be thus freed of the demons that consumed him. Tears streamed down his face; he remained still as blood mixed with water dripped off of his elegant face. Too soon, the rain stopped; he caught sight of his reflection in a puddle; his visage was clear of any sign of the turmoil he had just relinquished. His body was strong, his countenance firm as they always were. Soaked Italian shoes hit pavement as the beautiful figure strode out.