Staggering slightly, on legs that were more like broomstick handles than limbs, the woman hauled the last load of logs onto her cooking fire. It blazed savagely, reflecting the murderous light in her bloodshot eyes. Caprica was a creature of hatred; nothing pleased her more than to hurt and destroy. You would have had to be mad to go near her, which was the desired effect, however, she knew she had to assuage her deep inner desire to inflict pain. She wanted revenge on the world for its indifference, and wanted the exhileration of working her will on others. If the stench of food would not bring them, another plan would have to be conceived.
She needed more fuel, and headed for the store behind the house, only to lift her sharply pointed ears and sniff the air with a screw-like nose, a wicked grin curving into half her yellow-toothed mouth. Someone had come.
Caprica drew a black blanket around her shoulders to disguise her protruding bones; forced her expression into one she imagined welcoming and tiptoed up to him. She saw the remains of what had been the rear wall of her house, the fit of his innocently tight clothing and felt her innards gnaw with excitement. "Young man, young man," she crooned with a tenderness she did not feel - his appearance reviled her, for no good reason. "You must awaken - dinner is almost ready!"