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Horatio
A groan sounded off the stone crypt walls as the prone man lying on a slab slowly achieved consciousness. His dark lids opened revealing remarkably blue spheres blinking rapidly as he tried to recall not only where he was but who he was. With a groan he sat up swinging his legs over and down to a seated position. He glanced about the room finally taking in his surroundings. It was dark, the only lighting being supplied by candles that were very nearly burned to the quick. The flames flickered gently off the dusty stone walls. He could recognize it for what it was but why he would be sleeping there was a mystery to him. He raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to recall something, anything, even just his name but his mind was a complete blank. A sigh departed his lips as he slipped off of the stone slab he was sitting on. He wobbled on legs unused to standing. As his hand reached for the surface to steady himself, his gaze traveled to where he had just been. He wondered how long he had been there. It must have been days if he was having trouble standing. The only certainty was that he was not going to get any answers staying in one place. He took a stumbling step and had to pause again before he could continue. Reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear he paused briefly in shock as he noticed his long hair was a stark white and much longer than he recalled. A small frown appeared on his lips accompanied by a soft groan when his facial muscles too felt tight, painful to use. In an attempt to remain steady he took small steps soon reaching the door. Hands reached out pushing the wrought iron gate open them outstretched to steady himself in the doorway. He blinked as his eyes adjusted from candlelight to moonlight. It registered where he was and he wondered again why he was sleeping there of all places. Perhaps he was homeless. It didn’t seem likely he would forget such a thing. He frowned once more taking one step from the crypt then another he soon turned to face it. Reading the placard over the door confused him further, Poincaré, the name was foreign to him, this much he knew. He filed the name away in his mind and turned to walk away. Answers must lie somewhere. Maybe with the caretaker of this land. After a few steps he doubled over in pain. Within his stomach was a hunger unlike any other. Groaning, he took a few steps towards what he hoped was the entrance to the cemetery but in an instant felt hands on his shoulders and heard a soft voice in his ear asking if he was okay. He presumed as the words spoken seemed to be in a foreign tongue. He would not learn until later that it was french. Before he could muster an answer his senses were overcome by the scent of the man attempting to come to his aid. Turning to face him he growled, his eyes tinged in red as he lunged for the man's jugular. A scream sounded but was quickly silenced as his mouth was covered. Perhaps he needn’t have bothered for in the dead of night in this desolate place no one was likely to come. Ravenous he lowered the man to the ground, his own stiff body shifting with him almost robotically, as he continued to tear into him letting go of his mouth as with both hands he held his arm to his lips. The man's whimpers gradually subsided as his life left him but the strange man didn't stop eating until most of the meat was gone from his bones. He blinked several times as he came to his senses finally surveying what he had just done. He couldn't fathom why he had done it but noted he wasn't hungry anymore. There was no worry about what to do with the body. It was his. Perhaps it wasn't rational but he took it with him eventually cleaning the bones and keeping it with him over the years as his constant companion.
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