Death Becomes Her
They could feel and hear her mental ramblings. They seemed so organised for a newborn not yet risen.
Has it been three nights already?
I can feel him! Them! I can feel Eric!? Will he know? Will he care?
I can smell something so very sweet! It’s making my gums ache. I need to go to the smell, so enticing.
Her eyes snapped open. All she could see was a bit of phosphorescence surrounding her.
Her body was twitching as it came to life for the first time in her now undead life.
There was another scent underneath the sweet one. It was comfort. It was home. She knew it would always comfort her.
She sighed unnecessarily. Did she really have to rise? Did she have to leave the comfort of her grave, their grave?
Her hands started pushing dirt out of the way. She was following her instincts, the sweet smell. What WAS that smell?
Finally she made it to the surface. She was crouched, fangs down, defensive. Was it safe? Would she be attacked?
HE was there, watching her, smiling. He held something out to her. A cup. The cup held the sweet smell. Her gums were still aching. Her stomach was knotting. She surprised herself by speeding the few feet to him. She grabbed the cup, unmindful of her manners. She drained it and held it out to him, “More!” she demanded. He moved. There were many more glasses of that wonderfully sweet smelling substance. It was BLOOD! She wanted it! She needed it! In mere seconds she had all of the cups drained, strewn on the ground around her.
There was a new feeling now. It was burning, her brain was growing fuzzy from the intense need. She launched herself at HIM. “Eric,” she groaned. She was tearing his clothes from his body. He smiled at her, encouraging her to follow her instincts.
Ahhhhhhhhhh, there! What she wanted! What she needed was free of his pants now. She grasped it. She pumped it, felt herself growing wetter, smelled the different scent, the scent of her own musk. The smell of arousal.
Before she could impale herself strong arms surrounded her from behind. Comfort! This was the comfort she had been feeling in the grave. “Godric,” she moaned and nestled into his embrace.
“You are magnificent my child. Death becomes you. I am pleased.”