Dear My Vampire

In this moment of pure animal desperation, all you can think of, all you want in the world is to brush your lips against hers and banish the eternal cold of un-death, even if only for a fraction of a second, to relive some of what has been lost, to heal your mind as well as your body. This unearthly desire proves too great to resist, and you draw forward, embracing your lover and pulling her close. She struggles at first, but eventually yields to your touch, a deep groan of pleasure on her lips. The feeling is euphoric.

Hot tears stream down your cheeks and your chest constricts with gut-wrenching emotion as your embrace spans what feels like hours of pure bliss. And then there is pain. You're able to ignore it at first, but it returns with a vengeance as your lover is torn from your arms, a sad smile etched on her lips.

"No!" the word rips its way out from the bottom of your black and shriveled lungs. "Not again!" Your eyes shift to the demon pulling your lover away, and you recognize yourself in its face once again. Not as you once were, but as you are now—soul twisted and shriveled, a gaping maw with protruding fangs. You leap forward, ripping your doppelganger away from his prey before plunging your teeth into his neck. "Not…ever…again!" you grunt against his flesh, crimson bubbles flowering at the edges of your mouth as you scream defiance even while you drain your personal demon dry. When at last he breathes no more, you fall back, triumphant exultation fading as your body finishes knitting itself together again. Reality settles around you again, and you feel a biting sting of dread as you turn to take in the true scene.

The mutilated body of a young man lies sprawled on the ground, his neck torn open and hanging at an unnatural angle, expression locked in sheer terror and disbelief. He's tightly grasping the hand of a young woman—he'd somehow held on even as you drained the life from his body. Unlike her partner, the young woman has yet to succumb to oblivion—irregular breathing causes her chest to rise and fall and her eyes drift listlessly until they alight on you, your lips and chin slathered in a mix of blood from both your victims. She tries to scream, but finds herself unable to summon the necessary breath, and all that comes from her lips is the pitiful squeak of a prey animal. She's dying. She knows it. You know it.