The sharply angled walls seemed limitless in height as they gradually
tapered into pointed towers. Veins of gold and silver twisted and
intertwined in the black ebony of the city's structures, and the floors had
a translucent quality to them so that you could see reflections as you
walked among them as well as the shadows; the mistaken quality of something
that could have been black glass but had the density and hardness of stone.
In the center of the city was an open court, surrounded by silver skulls molded into candle holders, and huge decorated arches of leaves and obsidian tracings. In the center, the light of the stars embraced the room constantly and effortlessly with their patient, calm, and serene pale lights. In the center of the broad court stood a statue of a winged siren, frozen in a cry, a song of despair and sorrow, its feathered wings ragged and spread as it lifted its right outstretched hand towards the source of light; forever doomed to reach for the stars and never grasp them. At the base of her flowing, shredded robes the murky crystal twisted into a long, narrow alter that, bathed in the upper part of the statue's shadow, seemed dull as ice and twice as heavy.
Underneath the blanket of the statue's shadow, wrapped in soft curls, lace and layers of shiny lustrous silk, a woman lay, a light smile of contentment adorning the soft pale cheeks of her face. Her lips, moist and round and perfect mirrored the smooth roundness of her nose, which in turn mirrored the smooth and upturned curve of her long eye-lashes. Her arms lay flat and thin at her sides, her chest and bosom, perfectly full and risen, her corset revealing, but not too much so, tapering into a delicate waist and long layers of silk that were each placed into absolute symmetry. The only parts of her that lay exposed were her thin curved feet and toes and the long dark tresses of her curly brunette hair.
His thin gnarled, shrunken fingers teased the ends of her hair with his nails, his heart beating with love for her even though his body had long been drained of blood. His fingers quivered as he used all what was left of his physical control to keep from scratching her skin. His lean figure loomed over hers, and where once his face was the immortal perfection all vampires are damned with, his was now gaunt, his skull stretching the dry rough remains of his face until he looked hollow. His red eyes bulged out of the sockets that were once covered by the eyelids that were now shriveled against his brow. His eyes outlined her face lovingly, and his body gave a raspy sigh as he felt the softness of her hair tingle against his taut skin. He frowned sorrowfully as his eyes swirled at the round glistening perfection of her lips. How he longed to kiss her body, even in death, but as soon as he thought of her as a body, his pupils phased out, and he saw the remains of the blood in her veins pooled and stagnant. He turned away from her body sharply enough that he almost lost his balance and his fangs sprouted from his mouth. He could smell the blood and it drenched his senses until the need for it washed through him in convulsions of bloodlust. He gripped himself to try and control himself, but it was useless. Even though her blood was cold and old, his body longed for it, as a human longs for water of any type after days and weeks of thirsting for it. He stumbled over to her body, the evil smile of vampires imprinted on his face by eons of time. Shadows blocking the starlight drifted slowly across the light, debris from the ruins of the City of the Night floating pass the ceiling in the silence of space, and he clung to them as he crept toward his ashen victim. When he thought he could no longer hold himself back he lunged to make the bite, but grabbed his own arm, and instead of feeding off the pale goddess that lay before him, bit himself, and sucked and feed off the vapor of juice that was left in his body.
He snarled in disgust and spit his arm away from him, grabbed his head and shook himself vigorously. He fell to his knees and made whimpering noises, since his body was too wilted and dry for him to form tears, even tears of blood.
"Charlotte," he said in his quiet, low voice that was now raspy and rough with his accent, "Look at the monster I am. Charlotte, my love, I know your love for me, and I know that you want to be with me, I long for you as none other could. But be blessed my love, be blessed, and let the siren's spell keep you asleep in death. If you were to wake up and see what I truly was.what you now truly are." Meier Link covered his eyes with his hands and whispered, "I'd never forgive myself, my beloved. I'd never forgive myself."
In the center of the city was an open court, surrounded by silver skulls molded into candle holders, and huge decorated arches of leaves and obsidian tracings. In the center, the light of the stars embraced the room constantly and effortlessly with their patient, calm, and serene pale lights. In the center of the broad court stood a statue of a winged siren, frozen in a cry, a song of despair and sorrow, its feathered wings ragged and spread as it lifted its right outstretched hand towards the source of light; forever doomed to reach for the stars and never grasp them. At the base of her flowing, shredded robes the murky crystal twisted into a long, narrow alter that, bathed in the upper part of the statue's shadow, seemed dull as ice and twice as heavy.
Underneath the blanket of the statue's shadow, wrapped in soft curls, lace and layers of shiny lustrous silk, a woman lay, a light smile of contentment adorning the soft pale cheeks of her face. Her lips, moist and round and perfect mirrored the smooth roundness of her nose, which in turn mirrored the smooth and upturned curve of her long eye-lashes. Her arms lay flat and thin at her sides, her chest and bosom, perfectly full and risen, her corset revealing, but not too much so, tapering into a delicate waist and long layers of silk that were each placed into absolute symmetry. The only parts of her that lay exposed were her thin curved feet and toes and the long dark tresses of her curly brunette hair.
His thin gnarled, shrunken fingers teased the ends of her hair with his nails, his heart beating with love for her even though his body had long been drained of blood. His fingers quivered as he used all what was left of his physical control to keep from scratching her skin. His lean figure loomed over hers, and where once his face was the immortal perfection all vampires are damned with, his was now gaunt, his skull stretching the dry rough remains of his face until he looked hollow. His red eyes bulged out of the sockets that were once covered by the eyelids that were now shriveled against his brow. His eyes outlined her face lovingly, and his body gave a raspy sigh as he felt the softness of her hair tingle against his taut skin. He frowned sorrowfully as his eyes swirled at the round glistening perfection of her lips. How he longed to kiss her body, even in death, but as soon as he thought of her as a body, his pupils phased out, and he saw the remains of the blood in her veins pooled and stagnant. He turned away from her body sharply enough that he almost lost his balance and his fangs sprouted from his mouth. He could smell the blood and it drenched his senses until the need for it washed through him in convulsions of bloodlust. He gripped himself to try and control himself, but it was useless. Even though her blood was cold and old, his body longed for it, as a human longs for water of any type after days and weeks of thirsting for it. He stumbled over to her body, the evil smile of vampires imprinted on his face by eons of time. Shadows blocking the starlight drifted slowly across the light, debris from the ruins of the City of the Night floating pass the ceiling in the silence of space, and he clung to them as he crept toward his ashen victim. When he thought he could no longer hold himself back he lunged to make the bite, but grabbed his own arm, and instead of feeding off the pale goddess that lay before him, bit himself, and sucked and feed off the vapor of juice that was left in his body.
He snarled in disgust and spit his arm away from him, grabbed his head and shook himself vigorously. He fell to his knees and made whimpering noises, since his body was too wilted and dry for him to form tears, even tears of blood.
"Charlotte," he said in his quiet, low voice that was now raspy and rough with his accent, "Look at the monster I am. Charlotte, my love, I know your love for me, and I know that you want to be with me, I long for you as none other could. But be blessed my love, be blessed, and let the siren's spell keep you asleep in death. If you were to wake up and see what I truly was.what you now truly are." Meier Link covered his eyes with his hands and whispered, "I'd never forgive myself, my beloved. I'd never forgive myself."