Ok, this time, if you haven’t read 2, You need to before you continue this. 3 is like a continuation. 

That being said, enjoy!


I stare at my reflection in my ornately carved mirror; sitting in my boudoir like the princess of a gothic fairy tale with nothing but a black silk negligee on.

With gentle strokes, i brush my jet-black hair slowly; thinking, counting.
Why did I leave her alive?
10 strokes.
She was going to be meal, hence the white sheets.
Why did I stop?
‘I love you.’
20 strokes.
Her soft voice still rings in my head even after a week.
How can you love what you do not know?
Do I believe her?
I don’t know.
She is fun; but then, humans are always fun until its feeding time.
30 strokes.
Do I love her?
Yes…in my own way.
Same way humans keep pets or rear farm animals for slaughter; nothing too personal.
‘I love you’
I mouth these words to myself watching my lips as the shape them. I look odd saying that.
40 strokes.
She has constantly thought about me since our parting; I know.
I know what she thinks now; what she feels.
That mark you see, isn’t an ordinary one.
A thread that holds her life in a delicate balance it is; and it is in my hands.
50 strokes.
I think its time i paid my beautiful flower a visit.

She looks surprised. She hasn’t seen me since I left her that night. Did she think I’d never come back?
She looks briefly behind me, as if searching the shadows for something.
Ah, yes. I forgot that little bit about myself.
I tend to ‘open’ the eyes of my paramours.
“Can i come in?” I ask quietly.
“Sure” she moves out of the way, holding the door for me.
We sit down in the living room on different seats.
I watch her twiddle her thumbs nervously, unsure what to do.
“Come here” i say suddenly and she bolts to my side, sobbing and hugging.
“Shhh. It’s ok.”
She mutters something that sounds like “I’ve missed you” into my shirt.
I cradle her like a child.
“Are you hungry?” I whisper into her ear and watch her body language change.
She drops soft kisses on my neck, nodding.
I think she’s read my question wrongly (the thirsty wench!), but I’ve made up my mind.
I’ve decided to make her one of us.

I carried her up to her room and slowly undressed her in the dark, dropping tiny kisses on her skin.
I can feel her gaze, adoring.
I touch her forehead, and mutter a few words in the Olde Language.
She falls asleep.
I take a deep breath and shut my eyes, shedding my disguise and revealing my true self.
I open my eyes and touch her forehead, bringing her back to reality.
She opens her eyes slowly, uncertainly.
Then she sees me.
She pulls back in shock, covering her face.
I understand her fear.
My skin has shed its clothes, glowing red; my hair, a dark mass writhing with a life of its own.
My eyes, red like blood.
I probably look like the true depiction of the Devil right now.
I feel like laughing at her reaction.
Camon! I’m not that bad-looking.
I smile softly instead, pulling her hands away from her face, remembering to do it gently so i don’t break her bones.
“Look at me”
She stares eyes wide.
“Wha…t aare y..you?”
‘I wish you guys would stop asking me every time’ I think in my head.
“What you are about to become” I say instead, smiling.
Without a glance, I rip a portion of my skin out and present it to her.
She loves me, she will eat..wouldn’t she? This is the first true test of her love.
She stares at the steaming red flesh in horror, shaking her head.
“Eat!” I command a little forcefully.
She needs to do it quick!
She whimpers horribly, trying to get out of bed.
Just as I thought.
She didn’t love me.
The bitch!

Uncontrolled rage bubbles through me and with a swipe of my back hand at her neck, i decapitate her.
I maul her to pieces, every it of flesh, tearing into strips.
“You love me don’t you! Fickle human!”
I scream, vision tinged with blood as I turn muscles and bones to red pulp with my fists.
I cannot feed on her.
No, i would not feed on her.
She disgusts me.
I roll up her bit and pieces into the already bloodied sheet.
Bloody fickle human; no pun intended of course.

I calm down long enough to regain my earthly form.
I sigh as I rummage through her wardrobe for something to wear, in a haste to leave.
My clothes tend to melt off when i change form; not like I do it very often.
She would have been special, my green-eyed human.
I put the sheet containing her remains in a bag and haul it over my shoulder, an offering to the River Thames.
I slip out of her apartment quietly, blending into the shadows.
A sudden thought comes to mind.
What would her friends think?
Would she be missed?
They’d probably call the Police after they visit her apartment; her bed, stained with blood, a shocking sight.
I shrug.
She’s gone.
Many would take her place.
“Afterall, there are supposedly 7 billion of you on this planet.”
I grin fiercely, whistling a jaunty tune as I tread the shadows.