On the subject of vampires:

Every night, when I lie in my fake burial, I see this same vision: a castle, torn apart by time's unforgiving path, and slowly descending back into the earth. Nevertheless, I call this home. It is home to me, along with all the bugs that rattle between cracked walls, racing to trojan crumbs. It's like I can hear the chatter of their teeth through the walls, as hunger ricochets between the room I've built shelter in, my own finding comfort in the other little critters that feel the same doom. 

I sleep here, let the familiar whining lull me to sleep, and when morning pries sunlight through the shattered, stained-glass windows, I wake yet again. Maybe I'll explore this victorian maze, each 8-hour segment finding a new room, before the cycle repeats.

If I'm lucky though, my slumber will grace a moment of moonlight for me to prance around, manic with thirst as my hands slither through the grass, claws for teeth dragging me to a victim I can't yet see.

This brings me to the topic of my first bite. As rage had blemished along my senses, they clawed at the whiff of a foolish wanderer, and once eyes had seduced each other, I dive in for a meal long overdue. The feeling of each goosebump against my bottom lip, the crackle of veins beneath my tongue, and then the warm nectar that drips behind my teeth, was orgasmic. Thrill had overwhelmed me, and in my thirst for this sweet nectar - sweeter than anything my mind could possibly fathom - I drank and drank and drank, until I felt her body weaken in my arms, allowing me the realisation that they had locked around her waist, so pretty. 

Awake soon, my poisonous darling.