BloodTales!

When the hour of night is upon us, the children cry. When the moon is above us the weak cringe. The old whisper tales of dread and death. The new quiver and quake with the arrival of night. The cold wind blows past my face I see the town; old, dark, passive. I walk the lonely streets. The moon as my guide. I then smell it, the smell of blood. I search the streets, I follow the arroma. My bloodteeth exposed to the cold, my mind in a state of arrousal. The only thing there is...is the hunt. My victim is young, spirited, and beautiful. Her face is that of an angel, her body frail and perfect, her breasts are firm and exciting. She looks to see me and runs. The chase is short and sweet. I take her in my arms, wafting her aroma into my face, a truely perfect creature. I carress her face gently, the fear in her eyes is fantastic. Her body is stiff with what she knows will happen. I slowly turn her neck to the side, exposing the bare flesh. My hunger can not be denied any longer, I thrust my bloodteeth deep into her neck, blood pumps into the back of my mouth, sweet and pure. I gently remove my bite from her. She was sweet, but she must live for I have done this for many years, the only thing; no the most important thing that I have learned is anonimity is the key to longivity. The sun will soon be here, the night disappering. I retire to my dwelling, and bid the moon farewell.

~Profett~