Waiting in the shadows to seize her quarry,
Lips prepared to puncture and drain the marrow,
Lifeless eyes aglow with the hollow hunger
That gnaws within her.
Once she meets a match for her fatal beauty,
Fierce appetite will drive her to strike the living—
Drinking deep the burning red currents,
Bound by her trance.
Through the stone halls wander her ghostlike footsteps,
Past the cold bones of women once cherished,
She cries in agony over the lives she shattered, but still,
Night brings desire.
How deeply she adores them, her little creatures,
Trinkets left behind upon the dresser;
Fur and bone arranged upon a silent altar,
Tokens of triumph.
Glossy phials hidden in empty cages,
Drawn with careful craft, at the height of ecstacy—
Each one holds the rapture. She cannot keep from
Drinking again.
Sated now, having glutted on the crimson
Tide of flesh, filleted warm and tender,
Softly, she wipes the darkness from her mouth, and
Weeps for her fury.