A Fresh Cup

You sit in the dimly lit tavern, a crimson stain drying at the corner of your mouth. The wine glass in your hand feels cold, but the blood within warms your senses. The moon hangs low behind you, its pale light casting a soft halo around your silver hair. Your eyes are distant, lost in thoughts only you can grasp, as the weight of centuries presses upon you. The room around you fades into shadows, but for now, you remain here, savoring the moment of quiet solitude.