another story from the past
Many of these were weekly writing challengs from a now sadly desolate writer's board. This one has a pictorial prompt:
He hovered in the darkness outside her window, gazing in at the woman who sat at her night table. It had been too long since last he fed and the sight of her alabaster throat, arching as she sat there in a reverie, called to him in a siren's song. He could sense the blue veins pumping underneath that white expanse and his fangs ached with the desire to plunge deep into her throat and feed.
He knew the dangers involved in fulfilling that urge and fought to bring his sense of self-survival into play. There were other, safer ways to feed tonight, a drunken worker staggering home from his pub, a seamstress out after a fitting or one of the bargirls after closing hour. All were safer but none had the allure, none of these safer victims could entrance him as she had done.
Did he dare try to coax her, to rouse her from her thoughts and tempt her with words of promise and desire? Or try to mesmerize her with his gaze, cold blue eyes that seemed to sap the soul and life-blood of his victims before fangs ever touched flesh? Or would she in fact parry his efforts with a disarming glance, a bell-like tone, or a shrill scream that would bring the hunters down upon him?
His mind raced amongst the possibilities and he groaned at the sight of her, still lost in thought, unaware of the turmoil she had created in him. He gathered the force of his mind and will and turned aside, eyes blazing, and walked away into the night.
He hovered in the darkness outside her window, gazing in at the woman who sat at her night table. It had been too long since last he fed and the sight of her alabaster throat, arching as she sat there in a reverie, called to him in a siren's song. He could sense the blue veins pumping underneath that white expanse and his fangs ached with the desire to plunge deep into her throat and feed.
He knew the dangers involved in fulfilling that urge and fought to bring his sense of self-survival into play. There were other, safer ways to feed tonight, a drunken worker staggering home from his pub, a seamstress out after a fitting or one of the bargirls after closing hour. All were safer but none had the allure, none of these safer victims could entrance him as she had done.
Did he dare try to coax her, to rouse her from her thoughts and tempt her with words of promise and desire? Or try to mesmerize her with his gaze, cold blue eyes that seemed to sap the soul and life-blood of his victims before fangs ever touched flesh? Or would she in fact parry his efforts with a disarming glance, a bell-like tone, or a shrill scream that would bring the hunters down upon him?
His mind raced amongst the possibilities and he groaned at the sight of her, still lost in thought, unaware of the turmoil she had created in him. He gathered the force of his mind and will and turned aside, eyes blazing, and walked away into the night.