The Blackest Gift.
It is a night of dark desire, a song of sorrow,
wolves vent their pain. The dark one
wakens.
Wisps of death shrouds her stalking form,
an everlasting fear.
Her midnight hair cascades over
translucent ivory shoulders, and her
full crimson lips part slightly, to taste the
red tears streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her.
Now a night of ecstasy,
I hunger.
-Ryssa G.-
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