@voidher said: perhaps it's not the most eloquent thing, but it is impossible to ignore --- and so, stuffing a man hollowed out cavities of a large wolf ( a mockery of a werewolf ) is messy, to say the least. but effective enough, even when strung up outside the castle. her variation of an admirers note, perhaps; complete with the still beating heart of the human cut open for all to see, but only one to touch. her name, carefully engraved; and a lipstick stain on the man's neck, where his pulse is thickest. / valentine!
threat or diablolic crush ? such intentions were lost in translation following the familiar transformation that infected not only the werewolves of the transylvanian countryside, but the vampire king himself with the twisted spell of LYCANTHROPY. still, he supposed there was some beauty to the macabre decoration of man and wolf, of life in death and the throbbing pulse left for him to sup. some depiction of glory, if his prideful cask could but contain it.
his eyes wandered across the stain of crimson life on a blanket of fresh, icy snow; a juxtaposition that always heightened his mood, though in this instance it only a little. the count breathed again, inhaling the spicy scent of terror, and closed the gap between he and his lurid little gift, sensing his meal’s time was drawing near.
the taste of living flesh was always a welcome comfort in the blanket of unearthly decay that was his foreseeable home, acting as an elixir to dull his senses with a somewhat sickly warmth like wet silk against his body.
if his empty husk of a stomach could have howled ! how long it had been since he was brought to dine and give life to his dying veins ? taking far less than his fair share and giving what life he had hunted to sustain his gruesome brides. the vampire drug his parted lips across a cold, goosepimpled neck with long, languid strokes of his tongue to warm the dying flesh, and he tasted the red, waxy residue left behind by his compassionate and enigmatic admirer.
