The witching hour is upon the land, and all are asleep in their beds.
All but I.
I walk along the shore, the cold water lapping at my feet, the warm wind blowing my hair astray.
Arise the full moon in the sky, her silver light penetrating my soul.
The salty air of the sea fills my lungs, as a million silver stars wink in the heavens above.
I see the still house of a stranger against the sky.
Closer they come.
Closer to me they walk. I do not move, nor speak, and yet they keep coming.
I can see now it is a man, but not human.
His hair, long and black like the midnight sky, his skin glows with the radiance of the moon.
He has captured me with his eyes, eyes that shine as though they have a light all their own.
The dark green light of his eyes keep me there, rooted to the ground.
I try to run, but I can not.
I try to scream, and again, I can not.
He is standing infront of me now.
Saying not a word as he brushes away my hair from my neck.
His lips part and I see a flash of his fangs before he sinks them into my neck.
Again the witching hour is upon the land and all are asleep in their beds.
All but I.
I walk along the shore, the cold water lapping at my feet, the warm wind blowing my hair astray.
Again the full moon rises, penetrating my soul with her silver light.
I see the still house of a stranger against the sky, but this time, it is I who walk to them. They try to run and scream, but they can not.
This time it is I who brush away the stray hair from the neck, this time, it is I who part my lips and sink them into the flesh.