Breaths
And when he breathes, he can taste his own death. He can smell it in the air, waiting. Watch with a heartbeat that begins to quicken like a drum in his ears or a rabbit in his chest.
Oh, how he wishes it would come sooner.
At times he wishes those claws that brushed over him oh-so-tenderly would just rip into him tear him open shred his very being and just—let him go.
But he knew the day drew close.
Oh, how those blood-crimson eyes positively gleamed with anticipation.
Those eyes devoured him, watching hungrily as he withered and squirmed, gasped and cried out, greedy for more.
Oh-yes-
His fingers clenched in ebony hair and a porcelain back arched above sheets—more-
And still, he hates how he is reminded—by the taste of death itself.
With the eloquence of a shadow, a glint in blood-crimson eyes, he tastes dirt and rotting leaves and rotting flesh—and bile rises in his throat and is choked back in horror and struggles against it.
Oh, how he is never allowed to forget.
But how could he?
As a mouth drifts across his chest and threatens to tear in and taste his heart.
With a gasp, a moan, a choked back cry—he is desperate, just waiting for a last, a final, rattling, rasping breath.
A/N: Finally, I submitted something! Goodness gracious. It's been a while. I guess I got too happy to write. XD It happens sometimes. Well, hope you enjoyed, as usual, and thank you so, so much for the reviews and favorites this story has gotten! I love you guysssss 8D
Until later,
-Pickles