Bloodlust: Regret and Redemption

The Loss of a Vampire’s Dark Gift

I traced my finger along the top of my lover’s cold, damp headstone.

She is dead, buried in the earth below.

My bloodlust killed her.

I took her life in a futile attempt to douse my unquenchable thirst.

The tremor gripped my lungs again. I pulled the frigid air harshly in through my clenched teeth, pressing it deep into my being, hoping to stifle the sobbing.

An impenetrable, pre-dawn fog crept slowly through the graveyard caressing and embracing the headstones and statuary. Its cold, wet air crawled across my face, cooling the warm tears that dripped from my eyes.

Dew from the grass seeped through the fabric of my pants to my knees. I knelt, but not in prayer, for I know that there is nothing holy in this life. I know no angels or saviors, but I danced with a demon that granted my darkest desire.

The dominion of man is an illusion. In the darkness is real power.

My finger traced her name, reminding me of how I would run my fingers gently across her naked body as we made love. I can still feel the soft caress of her hair on my face while my fingers draw a tender line from her shoulders to her thighs.