Still and soundless. All around. The silence only disturbed by the incessant noise of her own breathing. Angel lies back, savouring the warm embrace of her furs. Her eyes are closed, shielding them from the darkness. A cold gripping sensation rouses her abruptly. Her eyes flash open to reveal her immortal captor, kneeling above her, finger on her blood red lips. With the most delicate pressure, she returns Angel to her previous position, where she remains, flat and immobile, frozen by her captor's fiery gaze.

Her eyes are wild with fire, but by contrast her skin is pale and colourless, as if drained of all its humanity, leaving just raw, primal instinct. Angel scrutinises her captor with an envious appetite, but she does not dare touch.

"You know, there was a time, not so long ago when hundreds would be gassed in this chamber within every passing cycle of the moon. The scent of death is still all around".

As if to illustrate the point, her captor sucks in a breath of air lustfully. With that she begins to unclothe Angel, peeling away the layers of thick white fur until finally the bare meat underneath is exposed. Angel can no longer feel the cold. A curious numbness has crept over her whole body.

My captor is laughing. Why is she laughing? Is it all a joke to her. The sight of my frail, vulnerable nakedness; my feeble mortal flesh, which she can manipulate so easily with her touch.

Angel does not flinch from the prickling caresses of her captor's piercing, claw like finger tips, yet her limbs grow rigid, and her body stiffens ever so slightly. Her heart rate increases.

An icy blade, pressing down on her skin. Angel gasps aloud. She can feel that. Her captor softly hushes her and keeps the knife firmly in place. When she eventually releases the blade, an impression is left behind in the form of a red mark, as if the girl's blood, aroused by the sensation, has been drawn to the surface. Her captor examines the mark intently. She leans over Angel's bare torso, in a sudden, spontaneous motion and devours another long, deep breath, as if savouring every inch of her pure, pubescent, angelic form.

She is perfect. Almost perfect.

"Are you ready?" whispers her captor, "it has to be your decision".

Angel hesitates, but the rapid convulsion of her lungs and the pounding of her heart have already made the decision for her.

"Do it," she says.

Her captor thrusts the knife into the girl's delicate flesh. Blood erupts from the wound. Blood gushes over Angel's hand as she clutches her ruptured skin. She stares, open mouthed, at her fingers that are now soaked in blood. Her captor also eyes them, thirstily. She can no longer resist. She seizes the bloody hand and suckles on each finger repeatedly, like a possessed animal. When she finally tires of this, she places a single, solitary kiss on Angel's lips, leaving a bloody stain on the face which is now eternally still; frozen at the climax of ecstasy.

"My angel".