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"Angel, angel what have I done?" these words echoed through the woods. The words kept repeating, "Angel, angel, what what have I done?" and with every repetition the words became louder until the owner stopped at a small cross to an unmarked grave. Simon Ward stood over it and spoke softly, "Hey kid," and then sat down next to the white cross. Two white roses where placed near the cross. The Angel's name was Bridgette and she was his daughter. Unfortunately, the keyword to that phrase was in the past tense. "Was" carried the weight. She was the second suicide on his watch. The first was a woman that was dead yet alive yet back yet still...kinda ***** but that was ancient history. However, she left the first suicide scar on him. Bridgette left the second. His daughter would never have a proper grave because ashes were hard to burry and it would be hard to explain and fake the situation. Sometimes being a vampire wasn't easy. He would have been happy to see her take on the Ward surname. No, he would have been proud. Unfortunately, she had walked into the shadows beforehand and tossed herself of the immortal coil.

The way Simon Ward was brought into the vampire society wasn't through politics, the popular game many people with delusions of grandeur and nepolionism liked to play, nor was the world taught to him in the master-student relationship of sire and childe, but he was a son, the eldest in fact, and a brother to many. His upbringing made the death of Bridgette hurt all the more...because on this Father's day he was spending it as a father with a daughter and as a Father with a daughter he could never hold nor say he was proud of. She was never by his blood, but that did not change the fact that the grave he curled up next to...belonged to his daughter.

Slowly the ground started to shift. The way the dirt swayed was barely noticeable until a hand shot out from underneath. If the cross nearby the dirt it would have been watching with wonderment. Sadly, it was not the ground to the grave of a girl but an area just to the right. Eventually more of the dirt gave way as the arm that the hand was connected began to stir. The limb was obviously male, that much could be told by the muscle structure. Earth rolled away from the limb as the shoulder and part of the neck revealed itself. Before long Simon Ward greeted the world and night air. Some people had wondered where he went for a few days. The holiday was too much and instead of returning to familiar ground he stayed with his child...or at least the memory of her.

All of the brown soil stains litted his clothes and body as the four foot deep hole was broken through. By the time he was out the man looked more like a zombie than a vampire. An affectionate stroke was given to the cross before with his left hand. A moment later it bundled up his hair into a ponytail while the right hand went for a knife. The sound of hair being chewed through by metal as Simon sawed through his pony tail.

Hairs scatted upon Bridgette's grave until there was no more left to cut through. A few reasons were behin the method of his madness: He just needed a hair cut for one and the biggest one was the belief of the japanese. Despite the jester rouse Simon often gave the city the man studied matters that meant something to him. Old Asian cultures people kept ponytails that were symbolic to their own connection to the land or even to who they are. Simon had just cut his.

Moments later his coat and shirt went to the bottom of the hole he just rose from. Dirt was kicked on top of his clothes as he refilled the hole. With hair that went down to the middle of his neck, instead of his back, and in just a pair of jeans and boots, Simon started to march back into the city.