I was 18 years old, the night I died, I remember it vividly. The wind, brushing gently against my skin, The leaves, rustlings in the trees, and the moon shining brightly overhead in the cloudless night sky. That bright moon; illuminating the face of the vicious hunter before me as the pain of his bite reverberated throughout my body. The bloodthirsty predator's eyes tinted in red, matching the colour of my blood as it dyed the grass beneath us crimson. But I didn't remember my death because of the terror or the beautiful night. I remembered my death because of the searing pain and unceasing thirst that came after.