About
The Blackest Gift
It is a night of blood, a song of death,
wolves vent their howls. The eternal one
stirs.
Wisps of death shrouds her pale form,
a timeless desire.
Her inky black hair cascades over
pale and delicate shoulders, and her
full blood red lips part slightly, to taste the
blood streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her.
Now a night of darkness,
I thirst.
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that would be hard