• Fangs, the shade of snow.
    Skin, the color of paper.
    Eyes, the color of death.
    Lips, the color of cherryblossoms.

    His lips brushed my neck.
    His eyes, scanning me like meat.
    His skin, cold to the touch.
    His fnags scraped gently against my neck as he kissed up and down it.

    "It's okay."
    "It won't hurt?"
    "Not very much."
    "As long as you live, and let me live with you."

    His fangs started to puncture my juggular.
    His skin began to warm.
    His eyes turned to bronze-colored.
    His lips closed the air from his fangs and my punchture wounds.

    His lips left my skin.
    His eyes scanned me.
    His skin was flooded with my blood.
    His fangs pierced his own wrist.

    I drank.
    Longing to be with him.

    "Welcome to my world. We can live forever now."