Her blood was tainted, poisoned. He had corrupted it, mixed it with his own. He had sunk his cold, pointed fangs into her pale, delicate skin. He broke through the tissues and the fibers of her neck, letting crimson liquid splash onto his tongue. He drank until his own cravings were satisfied; he drank until seventy percent of her blood was gone. He disappeared from sight; fangs disappeared from the now-holes in her neck. She lay on the concrete pavement, skin white as the glowing moon in the midnight sky. The fabric of her dress was partially torn and sprawl out across the concrete. She lay there, breathing frighteningly slow. It was as if she was breathing her last breath. Her body coiled up instinctively, her natural reaction to trying to keep herself safe. There was nothing to hide from anymore—the task was done. He was satiated and she was on her way to her death, on her way to the land of the spirits. She began to quiver, the frigid December air creeping its way underneath the fabric of her dress. It was odd that someone could be so menacing, so malevolent enough to leave a defenseless girl edging closer to the line between life and death. It was a possibly for her to survive, then again the chances were low. Frighteningly low. -ChasingRainbows.
Posted on: Sun, 14 Jul 2013 19:18:48 +0000
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