So long. It has been so long. Time has different meanings in a world ruled by dreams and scattered fancies. She could never understand my fascination with the sun. And I, likewise, could never comprehend her secrets, her little lies. Truth is different, with her, no more truth than a ghostly white lie has ever passed those lips. It is part of her charm, her mystery, that elusive air of drama. She didn’t understand my need for time, for change. She could go on forever in herself, a love that would shame Narcissus. And she would kill to have a flower in her name, even as she has killed for so much less.

I like time. It is a binding, of sorts. A prison in a life without walls, a cell, where one could never break in, and I could never break out. Time is a curse, and so a blessing. It is a comfort, to know that dark times are never forever, sorrow shall somenight fade. It is a balm, in a wound that will never heal, to know that if nothing else, there will always be something new.

She doesn’t believe in time, she believes in doing, in cheap thrills, and alcohol, and blood, and pain. She doesn’t indulge in feeling, in passions of the moment, only in reliving old games, more and more, and more of the same.

I love her. I don’t know if she loves me, maybe she does, that would be a nice thought. Probably not. Who does she love, if not herself ?

I would give all for her, and I did. I gave her my humanity. I danced with her under the light of a scarlet moon, drank the nectar from her veins, I ran with her as she chased down horrified younglings, as she drained their life, I watched, and after her, I did.

So much, so long. It’s almost a century now, since she brought me over, the horror of herself was easily eclipsed by that same self. Love or dependence ? Truth or lie ? Was I anything more than a spur of the moment ?

Did she love me as a part of her ? Or as a part independent of her ? I do not know. I do not ask. I dare not ask. I think that she has never thought of it, in her little world, with or without me, she will do as she has always done.

And now it is the final time, we have to part, I have work to do, work put off for far too long. To find oneself, and therein find the truth. She as a part of me, or me as a part of her ? Do I, can I, exist, without the dark that has shone so brightly since that time. So long ago.

Will I leave ? As I have done once, only to return, to be greeted as if I was never gone, never missed ? Or will I take the left hand path, as she has always done, in that world of immorality and sin ?

Hold, she comes. I arise from where I sit, gazing up upon the benighted face of the moon. A single beam halfheartedly pierces the gloom, and casts its glow upon her face. A bead of crimson flows down the corner of her lip. She is smiling, smiling the smile she smiles so well.

I can smell the alcohol, so strong in the air, and the slight undercurrent of arousal. She is almost giggling now, her fangs extended, and her eyes hunt me as I walk towards her, my lips are still. She starts to laugh, the light chuckle building up as she walks erratically to me, her pale arms outstretched. Still, I do not smile. She reaches me, her laughter loud and clear, almost taunting, and I fall upon my knees. Her hands are together, as she offers me her wrists, and my own fangs dig deep into her flesh, I drink, letting the ecstasy flow through me, a torrent of consuming flow, I throw my head back, as she has done, and I drink deep of the air, she looks down upon me, a slight twist in her mouth, that dark half mask of sensuality. She moves her hands, her death dripping down her fingers, casting her long nails in crimson sex, and she places them to my eager mouth, and her smile widens as I drink again, sucking them, licking them dry.

My breath comes in quick pants as I stand, my face stained with blood, and we kiss. A long fatal kiss. My nails rip through her clothes, tearing them apart. The blood is flowing freely, downwards over her pale skin, leaving cardinal trails, leaving marks of lips, leaving hand prints and saliva.

I pull her along as I walk out, her taste so rich in my mouth. I take a rope as we pass through to the forest, my blood soaking into it, her scent as well. The bats are chirping as they, too, feed. The moon is shining more brightly now, its opal light guiding me to whichever tree will be my choice.

She leans against it, expectant of what will follow, though we have never done it thus before. A smile plays in her lips, another behind the glaze of her eyes. Again, I kneel before her, a kiss, and I drink. Her hands push me deeper in her, mixing her blood with my hair. And I drink.

Her body moves, in its instinctive tide of passion, as she reaches her heights, as I drink in her depths. My tongue traces a path upwards until I kiss her again, and I move behind her, pulling her slender arms backward, to bind them.

I tie them tighter than I’m used to, and maybe she would have said something, but she was too drunk, and too aroused, to care, or maybe she would have let me hurt her anyway. Her blood soaks into the fibre of the rope, and I lick a little off. I crawl back to her, and I bind her legs apart. She looks at me as I stand in front of her, that slight smile upon her face, that look between ecstasy and mischievousness. Streaks of blood contrast her pale skin, running down her face, her breasts, her thighs.

She stands still as I move towards her, the wind howling as we reach a climax, my senses reeling in a vertigo of sensation. I howl, and we kiss again, our tongues dancing, as my hands hold her, sticky. One last time I kiss her, above, below, above. She moans. And I smile.

I can feel the dawn coming, and maybe she feels it too, as we rest, exhausted. I can feel her panic as I stand, the blood drying, and I walk away, down that path as the sky reaches out in its splendour, she doesn’t speak a word. And as I turn, for that one, final look, her mouth opens, as if to speak, to call me back, to tell me that which I long to hear, finally, now.

And not the slightest sound passes those lips. Except maybe a sigh.

Tears streak down her face. Of vulnerability and pain mingled.

And I walk away.

So long.