No longer bloated and sated from her feeds, when she desperately draws the life-giving liquid from her hapless victims, the hunger wakes her. She begins to move one extremity within her tightly wrapped shroud, patiently, biding her time until she works it free, then the other. She raises her fist high in exhileration, above the lid of her vault, free... FREE! She knocks gently on the lid of the simple box in which she sleeps, softly, once... twice... a noise as soft as a dove landing on a canvas tent. She knows her loyal minions wait nearby, ready to do her bidding, ready to prepare her for another night's havoc.
But something is amiss. They don't answer. Why do they not appear to do her will?
She grows frustrated. A low growl begins in her throat, inaudibly, then rises in pitch and intensity to a shriek that makes the blood freeze in the veins of any creature unlucky enough to be trapped nearby.
"Oh shit... Adrián? Clara's awake, can you give her her bottle? I'm busy with Olivia."