mlrocket

Rip Van Winkle rose slugishly from the confines of her coffin, the hour not far after sunset. Her waist length raven hair was wild and messy with bedhead- the prominent curl that sat on the front of her face stood directly up in the air at a 45 degree angle and was zig zaging. Fumbling for her glasses, Rip slid her feet into a pair of red slippers that matched her red pajamas. Rip yawned once, twice, and then shuffled her way out of her door to find breakfast. Rip was an early riser as vampires go. She got up usually just as the last rays of the sun were disppearing. This by no means meant that she was awake at this time. Rip was not a morn