Copyright ©Melanie McCurdie 2013/12/14
There’s blood on the trees. It drips down the bark like crimson honey, thick and viscous. I wonder vaguely if it tastes sweet, reaching up with my fingertips to touch it. It oozes over the back of my hand, warm. The blood sparkles in the light, deep red against my skin, singing my name, begging me to taste and feed. It dances on my tongue, sweet and tangy, the taste of fear. It is ambrosia
My Scythe quivers in the moonlight, requiring sustenance of Her own. I soothe Her with promises of a great feed, smothering Her blade with my hands, stroking it, feeling the contours with my fingers, Crimson honey dripping from the tip to dot the snow beneath my feet.
The wind brings the scent of my prey to my nose, exotic and spicy, amplifying my hunger and stirring other desires. There, I see him, and am confused. He doesn’t fear me. All fear me. Scythe sings, Her voice the screams of 10 000 lost souls, melodious whispers in the Dark.
Creatures take flight in my wake, squealing their discomfort as they flee. Determined to take this prey with delight I move quickly, to discover why he does not fear me. The sensation is delicious. His eyes are wide and confident, blue in the blood. He is covered, almost entirely in red, strong body bare from the waist. He does not shiver in the cold, or in my presence. This is new, and I’m not sure I like it. He should be screaming, but instead is simply smoking a cigarette and observing my approach.
I point my Scythe at him, a smile playing on my lips, reaching to grasp his windpipe with my talons, knowing this will make him shudder. He exposes his throat. It is I that feels fear…I back off a few steps, unsure of what witchcraft this is. From behind him I hear a groan, full of pain and fear. Its fills my mouth with need.
He meets my eyes and beckons me forward, with a crook of his finger and nothing else, just the stare daring me to come to him. Scythe croons, sensing a meal, a feed, pulling me forward. Wary, I approach, fear, desire and hunger warring in my mind. Oh, my black heart shrieks, a gift. She lays in the snow, her red hair flaming out behind her, crimson wings beneath her, spreading as her lifeblood slowly drains away. She sees me, eyes fearful and she rasps a cry.
I look at him, appraising his bearing. Prey has slain many, leavings of his hunt strewn around us, like red candles flickering in the dark, the twinkling of crystals in the moonlight like a romantic overture. I crouch beside my gift, stroking her hair, blood sticky on my fingers, softly streaking it down her pale skin. Flawless, luminescent skin, beautiful in her death throes, bright green eyes searchlights, hopeful that I may save her. Poor thing, she knows not who I am. Death Maiden does not spare her Prey, even a gift.
I pick her up, to hold her lessening body in my arms, her life-force warming my arm beneath her. I am capable of mercy, on occasion, and though I’d like to prolong the agony and my time with her, she has little time left. He is watching me, carefully, a little nervously. Good, that tastes like chocolate.
I smile into her eyes, leaning close to press my lips to hers, tasting the blood on them, the sweetest honey. She moans, trying even in her weakened state to pull away. My talons find her neck, gripping her windpipe and digging in, feeling her suck in a gasp of air. Slowly, excruciatingly slow, I tighten on her throat, feeling her stiffen, her final breath blowing into my body, nectar, lips still on hers. When her essence is gone, I place her on the snow, a pale angel dressed in blood sauce.
The night is deep now, shadows thick. A mist is creeping along the ground, licking along the ground, overtaking everything it touches, smearing, turning shapes into figures wrapped in shrouds.
He is beside me, his warm fingers on my chin, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. I growl, digging my claws into his forearm, digging deep and drawing blood poppies to the surface, rising from my crouch. I feel my body moving; it feels sinuous and aggressive, as I drift towards him. Not breaking eye contact, I see the water of life dripping off his arm to the snow below. It melts the crystals with its warmth, staining the white as it spreads.
His eyes reach far down inside me, caressing my Monster, waking her with the lightest of touches. As does his hand, touching, caressing, causing the most feral response. I retract my claws from his arm, leaning to kiss the wounds I caused. His blood is sweet, darkest delight. I lift my face to his, crimson now staining my lips. We are animals, rolling amongst the dead, with no care for anything but the pleasure we are causing each other, Union of the most brutal kind, flaying one another, with love, with need, cleaving open our souls to one another.
Hunger sated, we lay panting. In the distance I hear Scythe, Her battle cry, and I turn my ears from Her. I know what she desires, what I always desire. To release my Monster and slay. SLAY. He is watching me, gauging my thoughts, but not tensing to leap to his feet and RUN. I do enjoy the chase, hunger stirring again in the black hole where my Monster lives. He just lays there, staring at me, waiting my blade or my kiss I’m not sure.
I choose. There is another day dawning, and all Death Maidens must be in their cages. Daylight turns the beauty into horror, its harsh rays showing the truth. Scythe is quiet, contemplative, her voice muted. Trees are bleeding, I am home.
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