Haunted Wood I know there’s no saving us now

Spit, blood, and mud. Vanity certainly painted an odd portrait of her father, it was curious to think of. Conquest wasn't one to keep up with her bathing religiously either, but she wasn't that disgusting. At least once things were caking on she took the time to preen the fiery locks of her fur before it matted. At least she took the time to deal with those before her skin pinched under the pressure of the clumps of matting fur. 

Who knows, maybe she would follow in his footsteps later. It all depended on how much she cared for her outer appearance. Will you visit again? She questioned. She didn't have much and already liked Vanity to a certain point. She was the last bit of the Nightwalkers that remained to her knowledge, the last that cared enough to come and visit - even if it was to take her father's skull like some kind of sick souvenir.

It was almost sweet she supposed.

Having someone even if they weren't always around felt better than no one at all. Maybe someday they could get close too, just as Vanity did with Vengeance. If not, that was okay too.