entry four. the death wish.

Passion and fear are threads to weave, horror and darkness to hide the brutality of the truth... Would you set her free?

the death wish. JRManaia.

“And how do you like to kiss?” the whore asked.

The client was hungry. So very hungry. He took a bold step closer to her, and she did not shy away. She stood her ground and flicked her thick black hair off her neck in the most insanely alluring manner. He had to have her.

He took her in his arms, spinning her around as he embraced her. “I like to hold on by the shoulder, and the back of the head,” he placed his hands carefully, “and then I gently expose the neck, until the throat is close to my lips,” he moved in closer, “and the touch of my breath there makes the pulse quicken, and the vein protrude so my lips can embrace it and my teeth pierce it so delicately as to satisfy my carnal needs.”

She stiffened with panic in his arms at the change in his words and the cool indifference in his voice. And then he drank.

The body dropped to the gutter. Somebody was watching. The vampire hated being interrupted while he fed. His eyes darted both ways up and down the dank little street, but no one was there.

He licked his lips.

In her blood he had tasted her bitterness for life, her abduction as a child, her body sold into slavery. Her wish every morning before she went to sleep was not to wake the following night. She wished for oblivion and he, her genie, had granted her wish.

There was no remorse. It was a happy circle; he wanted feeding, and she wanted dying.

Finally he turned back to the whore – the broken little girl – as she lay in cold slumber on the ground. He picked her up gently in his arms, and kissed the blood off her neck before he carried her away.