Winter's Dance 

A tall, white, Beaux-Arts building stands apart from the brutalism, the bricks, and the grays of the Tacoma downtown around it. The Elks temple stands bright, stands lit, and stands as a beacon in the surrounding night.

A former home for a fraternal order, and the secret home to a Tremere order, in modern nights it exists as a hotel and restaurant, recently restored from decay. 

But tonight, it is not the things it once was, neither is it the things it still is. Tonight, the Elk Temple is a cage.

Five unbeating hearts were gathered here hours ago. It had been many months since they had to flee the city from the invasion of the Sabbat. But, on this night, they were to strike back along with so many others, Anarch and Camarilla alike.

From underground passageways, a swarm of crazed shovel-heads, along with fleshcrafted abominations, and no less than three devilish Tzmisce were on their way. The most devious among them was a vile Kauldunic sorcerer, the enemy of the gathered five.

But now, in the empty halls of one of the hotel floors, just a single heart danced, as lines of red traced her steps, falling from her wrists. Draped in a crimson nightgown, with nothing else but evening wear for modesty, the image of a red ghost amongst the empty hotel halls.

Roxana was the first to go, the scout that drew the hordes' attention. She was ready for this, having lost all she had years ago.

Godfried was next, revealing himself to trap their foes underneath the temple once they entered. If not for him, this plan would have no hope.

Deorwine lasted the longest, as he eliminated not only one of the Tzimisce but two hidden members of the Lasombra as well, along with many of their fodder. Magic that cares not for targets worked to their advantage.

And now, Ardbert was to fall.

"Anastasia," their voice began, ringing in the dancing woman's head. "All is ready. The library is sealed...the second Tzimisce is no more, and the third has been driven to madness."

"Thank you, my childe. You have served Tremere well."

Through their telepathic connection, Anastasia hears a final rush of determination, and then silence.

And she begins to sing.

It is a sorrowful, quiet song, much like a lone whale singing for a pod. In her many decades of unlife, Anastasia has had much time to perfect this song.

She continues her dance, as she moves in fluid, sweeping motions, a dancer in the waters of time and of life, smiling as blood not only falls from the openings all along her arm but from her eyes as well, as her body ran out of tears long before she was embraced.

A lost urchin on the streets in the middle of the Russian Revolution, all traces of family killed or gone missing, who just so happened to break into the wrong library for warmth.

A curious and desperate mind with an aptitude for Thaumaturgy, groomed into the ideal apprentice, allowed to mature and develop before the promise of eternity was struck upon her.

All the years of moving and running and retreating. Learning and crafting deals and arrangements and partnerships and betrayals all in equal measures. Her sire, the mad mage that he was, crossed the final line in Seattle, and she had the pleasure of disposing of him and earning her station.

And now, what had that all wrought? A locked trove of ancient knowledge, a temple desecrated, swarming with ravenous monsters with no mind or decency, dancing a ballet of solitude, and singing an elegy for the childer who gave their lives for this final mission.

But such was the cruel hand of fate, and such was the sacrifice required to ensure the knowledge of Tremere did not fall into the hands of the most vile among them.

She stopped her dance and her song, letting the words trail off with her regrets, and stood in the middle of the hallway.

At one end, was the final Tzimisce. On the other, the horde of monsters that still remained.

"Perhaps the time for the Tremere of eld is over," she said, spinning in one final circle, splattering her vitae around her feet. "and perhaps, even that dreadful House Carna shall produce some worthy minds. Eventually."

Looking at the cruel Tzimisce, white outfit stained with crimson and black, torn and shredded matching the twisted and gnarled face of sharp angles and pointed protrusions, she matches their gaze, its gaze, and holds her arms open.

And both sides rush toward her in a violent flurry, trampling and smearing the lines of blood in a wild flurry, spreading its covered area further and further.

The hungering Tzimisce, forced into frenzy, closes in first and goes for the neck of the woman taunting him. But, she merely closes her eyes and whispers a final phrase as he comes near.

"Glory to House Tremere."

The blood dripping from her wrists glows bright, and in less than a second, ignites in a violent burst of flames. As it does, the flames hit the ground, and the trails of blood left by her and her childer ignite as well.

In less than the blink of an eye, the massive torrent of flame begins to engulf the Elk Temple on every floor, the heat and flames breaking the glass of the windows, sending smoke careening high into the sky, with the intensity even causing the floors to quickly buckle and fall to pieces in ash.

As the floor beneath Anastasia breaks, she falls gracefully backward, along with her attacker, grasping her gown despite the intensity of the flames.

As she descends, she can hear the sound of cheers and frenzied motion, her tenuous allies at work, using her actions as the signal of rebellion.

With a smile on her face, and no more tears or blood to cry, she hits the ground.

When she opens her eyes once more, not knowing how much time has passed, she finds herself on the ground floor, looking up through the broken roof and seeing the sky.

Mixed with the ash and the embers of her volatile spell, snow is falling.

Despite being severely burned, her entire body being charred and scarred now, she does not feel the pain, and merely watches the snow fall, remembering the young girl freezing alone on the streets, now surrounded by all the warmth she could ever need.

"Was this," She thinks, feeling her limbs disappear from the ends. "how it was always meant to end?"

As the disintegration of her body reaches her face, a single snowflake lands on the tip of her nose, and for that one moment, she can feel the cool sensation it brings.

And her body turns fully to ash, becoming one with the snow as it falls.