Forever is a very long time. And it seems, in spite of it all, that I do want to spend it with him. How quaint. Must be the alcohol. Still, I drank very little tonight, relatively. I do wish he had come, do I really feel so… so… lonely ? Damn. And it’s not even two yet, going home, fuck – I must be losing it.

Now wouldn’t that be cute ?

sigh Leaving in the middle of a party, only halfway pissed, and going home. Oh god, I’m mellowing out…

Must be love, a century with one man can do more than I expected. And he seems so moody lately, I’m getting to feel depressed too. Sometimes I wish we spoke more, but I don’t like words; words hurt people, they open wounds, and some wounds never heal. He respects that, he accepts everything about me, it’s so beautiful. Love is.

A hundred years. Him. Love. Sex.

I smile.

Home.

He’s awake, I can feel it.

The moon is weak, this night, and I start to giggle, bubbling forth a new born spring. I look at him, he’s standing up, I spread my arms, pale against the night, and he falls to his knees, a laugh comes out, all my love with it. And I offer my wrists to him, take me, my love, take my hands in blood and wine… His fangs lightly aglow, he breaks forth the veil, and I cast my head upwards, my mouth open in silent scream, as my blood flows outward, through the channel of my being, and he drinks. My own fangs bite into my lip, of pain, of love; of oneness. Hearing his deep, drowning breath, I look down, his mouth is open, my maidenblood flows down his chin, ecstasy in his eyes, I smile. Reaching out, I place my fingers to his lips, letting more of myself flow into him, who has all that is me.

The bleeding stops, he stands. His breath a fevered pant, we kiss. A long fatal kiss. I feel his strong hands, claws sharp, as they tear away my clothes, leaving blood streaks upon my back, I can feel the lines, crisscrossing, a frenzy of lust and desire. Liquid flows from my mouth, his, down my breasts, his, my legs, his, blood, saliva, more.

He pulls me along, as he walks into the forest, the moon sings now, letting her light flow all the more, as if guiding us in our love.

I lean against a tree, where he stops, and again, he kneels, kiss, drink. I feel his hair beneath my hands, my fingers stained with my self, I pull him toward me, deeper. He drinks. I moan.

After my passion, my breath slowing, his tongue traces a path upward, trailing a scarlet line between my breasts, and we kiss again, I taste myself upon his lips, the taste of my own lips. And he pulls my arms around the tree behind me. As my mind returns, he binds them together, with a rope I did not notice before. It is an old game, of maiden and master. Of thirst unsated.

My hands hurt, and I struggle, but, as always, the rope is just strong enough, and I am too euphoric to speak, words will spoil the moment, and I would never stop him, not now, not ever. He binds my legs as well, and I feel it bite into my ankles, but again, I say nothing, waiting. He stands in front of me, and I smile. I am all over him, in the red streaks on his lips, in the lightest whiff of perfume. As he is in me, in every beat of my dead heart.

He moves closer, and the wind burns in our union, a howling to match the torrent in my soul. Climax, and in the blur of ecstasy, I see him howl, as the wind in my ears, and his lips move again on mine. Kiss, deep, lover’s kiss. He moves down, I can feel him in me, a warmth, as he kisses me again. My mouth parts, I moan.

Darkness, euphoria, panic. The sun is coming. Weak, I look up, the rope is still holding me, bound by him. My eyes seek.

He’s walking away, the sweat and blood drying.

Confusion.

The sky turns, I… I want to speak, he is walking away. He turns, our eyes meet, terror, as crimson tears thread lonesome damning paths, he turns away, total. Void. Maybe a sound; maybe a sigh.

Maybe not.

The first drop of my love hits the earth, and the sun’s vengeance strikes. I look away, my eyes closed, as I feel it burning away my loss. Stripping away my soul.

Another teardrop falls.