Copypasta'ed from DA:

It was as I lay dying when my consciousness finally began to clear. The cowardly animal in me turning away from the prospect of repentance, I was left to weakly ponder the meaning of my own pathetic existence. My life played out slowly before my eyes, like the painful turning of a breaking wheel, with each rotation bringing with it the realization of not having lived at all. Lying there, frozen in the snow, I suddenly felt as alive as I had ever been. It seemed such a shame that being alive meant only that your body knew weariness as it could know little else in that moment. It manifested as a steady ache in my chest. The void in my stomach now becoming concave and ravenous to itself, the cold entered me through my mouth and numbed me from the inside out. The icey air reached through the thick layers of damp fur and gently stroked my frozen skin, soothing my unsteady heart in anticipation of Death, her imminent Master. Gradually, her touch began to warm. And I knew the final stages were upon me.

The snow softly falling about me became a blanket of false warmth that lulled me into such a sense of comfort and safety that I no longer cared to stand. Random memories floated to the surface of my mind and I recalled a faint echo of an emotion; disappointment. I was disappointed that I had allowed myself to fall prey to Him, once again. This is where it got us, you gluttonous bastard,I seethed. Cold, starving, and soon to be dead. At least I'll finally be free of you. You want this body? You can have it! I had given my life to Him, and now in death, my spirit, too.

The moment I realized this - for it had to spin round my head a few times before I fully understood it - I opened my eyes, and the desire to live, to fight, was suddenly rekindled in my breast. If my muscles were not so frozen, I might have jumped at the sight of the young woman kneeling over me. I idly wondered if the cold fingers that so thoughtfully stroked me moments before had belonged to her and not the icey hand of Death.

My jaw tensed, my eyes widening at the sight of those wintry grey orbs, slicing into me like knives through a slab of meat; those full, red lips blooming like a poisoned flower on her flawless elfin face, framed by a lush cascade of dark auburn curls. For a brief moment, her image flickered, and had my nose not been so full of ice, I might have been able to smell that alabaster flesh, the sour scent of blood on her breath, her keen interest in my own. If my veins had not run with ice before, they certainly did now.

She gingerly passed another small, doll-like hand over my fur and whispered sweet sounds of comfort into my ear. Weary as I was, I scarcely comprehended what was happening to me as she so tenderly spun her spell over my mind. A warm haze soon descended upon me, like a veil, placing my own will, as well as His, into her delicate, clever talons. Being at the mercy of a vampire was equal to that of Death. Either way I could not fathom escape, and after what seemed an eternity lying with my head cradled in her lap, it was a need I soon forgot.

Sad Asher in snow. :( I've been so artistically and creatively dry these past few days I decided to just sit down and put stylus to Cintiq and see what came out. No lines, no plan, and suddenly...Asher, whom I've been contemplating for a while now because it's his turn to speak in my novel. He's tricky to write for because his dialect is....a bit antiquated and formal. Anyway, this was a good exercise in both painting and writing so now maybe I can get back to more important matters...like filling commission orders. x_x