The dead queen sits high upon the blood-stained hill,

Lips blue,

Skin icily pale,

And she smiles,

Fangs tainted with burgundy.

Her black hair glistens in the nothingness,

As she sits upon the throne of onyx and human skeleton,

Deadly wine dripping from her slender hands,

The wicked smile freezing blood.

Laughter breaks the glass,

As it tears the human girl's flesh.

The queen laughs again,

Grey clouds overcastting the carcasses that lay about.

Rainfall is beginning to wash away the blood that seeps from the earth.

The grass is no longer green.

The wickedly beautiful potentate,

Draped in velveteen gowns of indigo,

Dances lavishly in the blood,

Her whisper carries like a scream upon the wind,

No sun to brighten days,

In thirteen nights I have fell the reign of mortality.

None of them belong.

Come to me,

My fellow leech.

Taste the rain.

Her wicked smile grows,

Showing the fangs.

Irony.

The dead rule the living.

All the dark ones bow to their new ruler.

They bend and taste the carcasses,

The queen laughs,

Lightening flashes,

Slashing the sky,

And it breaks open,

More darkness coming to serve,

Spilling out more dead mortals,

And more fellow night children.

Dead children.

The queen scratches a line upon her cheek,

Spattering her blood upon the humans.

In a communion and baptism,

All dead.

Headstones become tinged in blood and viscera,

Bones and flesh are strewn over the ground,

And she kisses one of the dead,

A mortal staring back with empty eyes.

She chooses him to be one of hers,

Turning him into a deadly mutation.

And so her blood-child feeds.

The queen reaches up as to touch the sky,

The beautiful vampire queen.