And the night is when imagination

soars. The wind howls like wolves on a midnight

hunt. If you are not one of them, Dear God

run. It feels like it will do you good. Oh

but you are wrong. How wrong you are. Just sit

beneath the windowsill and wait. Just wait.

This time he comes without silence which is

his usual habit. Footsteps don’t crunch

in his world. But as he approaches, you’d

better tremble. It’s an insult to say

that the wind dare caress you. Watch him come.

His approach is breathtaking. Watch him come.

The devil’s cloak whips the air. You start and

fade. You had the chance to run before but

you did not heed. He comes closer, sound now

rising. What magic is this that he brings?

What the blood drinkers do. He lifts you up.

He smells the fear. He first drinketh the fear.

Your eyes tear at the treat of his face. Look

away, your soul tells you. Fear this creature.

Red luscious lips. White skin as the snow the

night before Christmas. Eyes of ebony.

How could the dead be so beautiful?

The violin does not do him justice.

Such beauty as this chose you. How special

you are. You would never expect that mouth,

that delectable mouth to open for

you. Beyond the crimson lies the white death.

The sharp incisors growing on their own

accord. You ask, what is their purpose? Why?

The time you grow to hate, to love, to live

by, has slowed to bring you a new peace, a

new bliss given to few. His eyes close with

no sound, no flutter. He comes closer. You

shiver with anticipation. Can’t run.

Can’t see his mouth anymore. Where is death?

Eyes watch the sky. Tears of blood stain your cheeks.

Warm breath touches your neck. The time has come.

The shards pause and cause an indent on thy

flesh. Hesitation gone. Euphoria

pure pierces through. Fear now gone, ecstasy

come. Sensual pleasure as you cry out.

He drinketh from you. He pulleth away.

Chosen you are, his eyes flash and he lifts

his wrist, that pale skin pierced with a nail.

Breathing is difficult, you stare with no

movement. Take the offering. Become dead.

Drink and you will belong to the Master.