Beth could not hush her appetence; not tonight. It had burrowed too deep inside of her, had become intrinsically linked to who she was. She had been embedded with a voracious appetite, and now she meant to satisfy it.
She looked up. A symphony of sounds was cluttering her mind: the crickets, an owl, the dancing trees scattering their leaves about. She could barely hear herself think. The moon was full and tinted with blood. The equinox was just around the corner. She needed to feed.
Beth tilted her head down again and continued her work. She swore it seemed that the digging was getting more and more tiresome each year. When she finished, she leaned against the tombstone to catch her breath. ‘Well worth it,’ grumbled the gnawing, insatiable, hunger inside of her. ‘Always well worth it.’