Written for Chuck Wendig‘s Flash Fiction Challenge 11-18-11.
He fisted the red silk scarf. It was all he had left, save for her powdered remains covering his clothes.
If there’d been a way to save her… but her addiction was too great, and the more blood she’d consumed, the more haunted she’d become by the memories stolen from her victims.
So he did it, and he refused to think of it as anything other than a mercy. The stake he’d used fell to the floor and settled into a crack.
The sun ascended and he welcomed the burn as his flesh, too, turned to powder.