Nightfall came without my awareness of it. I had fallen asleep in the tree just outside one of the main buildings on this all girls’ campus. The sun peaked though the tight grouping of leaves to warm my soft scaled skin, as I relaxed in front of the sights. Without any intensions of it, I had fallen asleep as if I was human watching a pleasant movie wrapped in blankets on the sofa.

Now in the moonlight, a single set of windows was the only thing lit, catching my attention. Stealthed from the sight of anyone that might pass by at this time of night, I jumped down, and walked casually across the courtyard to the brick wall, and climbed up to the stone sill of the open window. The pale female with flowing purple tinted hair was standing inside the classroom with paintbrush in hand. I couldn’t see the canvas she was working on, but she seemed quite engrossed in the project.

Her body was shapely. Her face and ears pierced in more locations then most I had seen here so far, no stranger to pain obviously. I could also see an extra circular ridge around each of her nipples suggesting hidden jewelry. A grin crossed my lips as I held back the hissing purrs of my building arousal.

I couldn’t place the scent exactly, but her aroma alone drew me closer, even though it was her beauty that first pleased my senses. Without making a sound, I pressed my body against the window opening it enough to squeeze inside.

The campus is silent, all the good girls tucked away with terrifying nightmares of monsters running through their heads (or in the case of an unlucky few, literally running through their beds). Anna may be the one exception, taking advantage of her privileges as a prefect to work on her art. The studio is dimly lit, the windows wide open to let the moonlight seep through. It casts an ethereal halo over her soft, pale skin. Bare toes wiggle in the carpet as she splashes careful brush strokes across the canvas, well into the detail work. A pretty face dominate the lower right foreground, just the upper portion of her face in frame, forcing the viewer to judge her expression based on her eye alone. Yet, it's surprisingly suggestive, some mix of fear and perhaps expectation, the only potential motive a background of skeletal forest, a looming shape on the horizon that holds the menace of some abstract big bad wolf.

Regardless, she's blissfully unaware of the monster's presence, in the closest state of peace she's capable of achieving, her attention focused wholly on the canvas, all sound muted by the pair of ear buds piping music. Long legs are squeezed into a pair of improbably tight jeans, splashed with paint, denim hanging low on hips, the full curve of her rear giving way to supple incline of back, full expanse of midriff, the dark lick of tattoo ink. Silver gleams from her exposed navel in the lunar light. A tiny red half-tee barely covers the fullsome swell of her breasts, the barbells pierced through her nipples clearly impressed through the skimpy fabric.

As Vaaloris wiggles through the window, she turns, and for a brief moment it appears she'll see the monster but instead she just walks past, hips shaking as she hums to herself. It's a rare ocassion when she's not seen with makeup but it adds a certain charm, a certain vulnerability to her features, a wideness of eyes not present with her typical heavy application. Feet pace softly across the room, lifted to tiptoes as she digs carefully through the selection of paints.

Forced to pause in stride, my patient nature allowed her to pass by me instead of attack so soon in the evening. I watched my prey with a slight continuous grin that I wasn’t even aware existed, brought on by her uninhibited nature. She clearly felt free and safe all alone in this private world after dark. It will almost be a shame to ruin her sanctuary.

Tiptoes supported her lovely frame as her she continued on her tactile search for a new utensil. I slowly, silently moved to the other side of her future path to be sure not to give away my position. Just then, I saw the perfect opportunity to start the party.

A tiny bit of paint had spilled out of the container, and was in mid drip heading towards her bare feet just below. Quickly my tongue flicked to sweep a tiny spot on her foot, and then the paint hit. If she is startled by the stroke, she might look down and see nothing more then the drips of paint now coloring her toes an unnatural shade of green.

Fitting really, as if a drop of my coloring had given a trace of evidence of my presence and my saliva filled with the venom it possessed. Had I licked her mouth or some other open orifice the reaction would be quick, but the slight bit applied to the external flesh of her understanding would take a little longer to realize.

But soon, her blood will run hot with lust. It might even creep into the strokes of her brush, or maybe it will cause her to use the tip of the brush on herself to quench the undeniable thirst.