Until Your Death Do Us Part

One

Blood. The liquid truly from Heaven for the monsters of Hell. It's scent, so luscious, so irresistible. It makes vampires go crazy, even from such a far distance. But to feel it's presence so vividly...To touch it...To hold it in my bare hands. I widen my eyes within a second at the thought.

Blood everywhere. Where is it coming from? I panick, my vision becoming blurry. I felt like my head would explode in a moment's time. So much blood. Am I bleeding? Whould that be possible? I raise my hands to the air. They are covered in thick, red blood. I scan my hand, desperately looking for any cuts, tears, rips, anything. Nothing. It smells like blood though. Real blood.

I leave the room in such hurry I'm scared my legs won't keep up with my speed. I run to the restroom, leaning over the sink. As I rest my hands on the counter it doesn't hurt. So it's not my hands that got injured. What could it be then? I lift my chin up, staring at my reflection. My face. Mouth. Chin. Neck. They are covered in bright red liquid. I slowely lick my lips. I listen to my senses, the liquid is blood. The sweetest one I've ever tasted, for the matter. I look into my own eyes. They seem grey, as usual. My pupil is dilated, but only a little. That could be a good sign. I run my hands through my thick, dark hair, squeezing my eyes shut to think for a second.

I throw my shirt and pants onto the floor to look through my entire body, searching for any injuries. To my horror, as I strip down my blood covered clothes my body is as clean as ever. No cuts, tears or rips.

Then the blood cannot be mine.

Thereupon, I remembered. I remembered, but awfully wished I hadn't. As I run back to my bedroom, my mind goes crazy. I'm no monster. Technically I am considered one, but I chose not to be almost a year ago.

My feet got stuck on the wooden floor. I couldn't take more steps. That's when my eyes finally met hers. My Josephine's. Her beautiful blue eyes, that always shone brightly whenever she got excited, and darkened when sorrow found it's way to her. This time they didn't do that. They looked rigid, blunt, and steady.

They looked dead.

My knees hit the floor once I've realised what's happened. I grabbed her shoulders, my fingers digging into her pale skin. Her skin was always pale. Pale, but not grey. Now it's colored grey.

I shake her fragile body as I scream her name in horror. Josephine doesn't move. She does, but only because I keep moving her. I grab her chin gently with my shaking hands, lifting her head up to get a better look.

I jank my head back as soon as I face what I've done. Her neck was covered in blood. Her own sweet, thick blood. From two bite marks. Two bite marks, that I made in her soft skin. So that's the source of the blood.

My Josephine died, because I killed her. And that was the day I died with her for eternity.

Cillian Milford,
June 12, 1853