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To Die Upon a Kiss, Part II Dracula's Account
Suspended by a moment, time and reality hovering outside a world of our own fabrication, nothing existed beyond the blend�the immaculate blend as her spirit rose to correspond with my own. A thousand sensibilities fused into a rushing torrent, relentlessly awakening within me the shadow of a life that had once been mine, not the undead shell I had become. Emotions unstirred in my own silently leaden heart surged from hers in abundance, and I savored each one. I felt her languorous euphoria at the joy given her in so abundant a flow; tremulous relief at the vanquished threat of separation; and absolute devotion as she clung to me. The warmth of her youthfulness and beauty lay as an offering in my arms, mine, though they were no more accommodating than polished granite. My skin was no longer deathly cold, not with such warmth radiating from her embrace, but still my immortal frame was firm and unyielding, motionless and lifeless at its core. She noticed not. I held in that moment not a senseless victim, no trembling inferior whose wide eyes revealed horror or loathing, but one who willingly linked her fate with mine. I looked and saw not the proud and guarded guest, but my living beloved, answering my caresses with her own, life and vitality exuding as she yielded to my touch.
I fed off her emotions as one dehydrated, sensible that each was all the more rare and precious for my inability to personally share them. It was not her blood I thirsted after, or rather I did not desire it as I craved sustenance from mere victims. She had placed complete faith and trust in me, what no mortal had ever done before, and I could have sworn eternal love, my undying commitment to her. My lips brushed her shoulder delicately, a butterfly�s caress. She leaned against me slightly as I paused over the sensitive skin and intoxicating curve of her neck. Still her blood called to me and still I allowed the kiss to linger. It would be reverence and adoration that would draw out the life flow, not necessity, and as such I would reward the gift she had granted me with the greatest Gift in my power to impart.
Closing my eyes, my teeth rested against her flesh briefly before I rose to the inevitable and drove them into her. The shock that followed, the stifled gasp and stiff-limbed imbalance lasted only a moment even as I soothed her in my secure grasp, reassuring her with my lips as I continued my worshipful possession and need of her. The fingers that had closed around my hair in alarm relaxed rapidly, a beguiling and rhythmic pressure against my scalp as her heartbeat slowed to a steady pulse. Each image from her life carried on the blood was cherished, and as I cherished her, I did not block my own life images prompted by the bestowal of the Dark Gift. She winced at the visions of pain and betrayal in my mortal life, but the increasing sense of victory that encompassed mortality quieted her once more. Her head leaned back against my shoulder as all consciousness left her, and I drew away from the small wound. Already her heart rate dwindled faintly. Though the loving emotions had infiltrated the flow in her veins, making it a more divine nectar than any I had tasted, I would take no more than what the Gift required. Sweeping up her light form before she limply gave out completely, I carried her across the room to the bed, placing her down gently. Her breathing had slowed to a torturous rate, sounding laborious and strained; while the flushed countenance altered to an ashen pallor that starkly contrasted with the raven black locks spread over the pillow.
All appearances signaled an outcome that would destroy any new bridegroom, but I needed no mirror to know my oceanic green eye color had waxed the iciest shade of blue, glinting and sparkling in triumph. The warm crimson flood animated my senses, each fiery emotion and passion belonging to its original possessor culminating at my lifeless heart and breathing vivacity into every inch of my being.
The contrast between us could not be greater, for while she, the living, took on every visible sign of death, I, the unliving, positively glowed with life.
She sighed and shuddered as she struggled for breath, her eyes never opening as I sat beside her and took her hand within my own. Though buoyant I too felt something of a strain, having given of my myself and my power. I had made her a part of me in the baptism of blood, a circumstance that would strengthen her in the days ahead, even as the transformation pulled her incessantly from all light of the living. Nor would I abandon her in the process, though I would not be entirely visible to her. While Kelantha lived nothing would disrupt my vigil over her; and once she resurfaced, reborn�then would begin life renewed, limitless, ultimately victorious over everything of this world and all beyond.
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