Draped in red,

Lying under the moon,

In the leaves,

Smothered in pale death.

Beautiful death.

White as your eyes in the dark,

Turning crimson,

In all the black.

Tasting a thirst in your mouth.

Mouth like white roses,

Lips as petals,

Fangs as thorns.

The silver-white panther,

With a cascade of ebony hear,

And crimson velvet.

Trees like blue in the dark,

In the moonlight,

From which you hide in the trees' shelter.

You can smell and hear the sap flowing the veins of the tree...

Like human blood.

Thirst.

A hunger,

That needs to be quenched,

Needs to be sated.

Yet the moon repels you,

And draws you to its light.

Amber leaves caught in your hair,

A frail leaf the color of roses caressing your eyelashes.

It snatches you from your trance.

Run your tongue over your white lips.

Go deeper,

Deeper,

Into the forest.

A human heart is calling you.

You ache to drain her dry.

The gentle thud,

The gush beneath the skin.

So alive,

So alive.

Crimson eyes turning into white,

Flit through the trees,

Making no sound,

Only leaves touching your fingers as they fall from.

All feels so taxing.

The sighing breeze snapping at your ashen flesh.

Run, run.

Ever so close.

You halt.

Gazing at the sleeping girl,

Beautiful, clothed in black velvet.

Kneeling, you gently push back her ebony locks from the luscious flesh of her throat.

And give her the killing kiss.

Drink, drink, drink.

Breathe in her sweet blood.

She sighs as her fingers snatch lazily at the empty air.

Losing life.

The rich, pungent claret flowing over your dead lips,

Over your tongue

Slowly the flow ceases,

As the beauty becoms limp.

You gently kiss her eyelids,

And fingers caress her lips,

Once pink.

Place a red rose into her lifeless hand.

Claimed by death.

You are death.

Stand slowly and sigh into midnight,

Walking deeper into the depths of the thick, sheltering forest.

Wait for her to arise.

The need no longer burning.

Mouth like a red rose.

Lips as petals,

Fangs as thorns.