The vampire stood before me.
It was such an important moment, I didn't want to ruin it. His thick and long black coat rose gently with every hollow gust of wind through the stark lower chambers of the mansion. Torn at the bottom, its frayed edges danced like raven feathers in a thunderstorm.
His wide hat was bent low over his face, but I could still see the gleaming, hungry teeth just inches above his handsome square-cut jawline. The stubble on it—first seen at our encounter in the night market—had now grown into a short, untrimmed beard. He must be consumed with me, obsessed with yearnings for this moment, days on end, forgetting to tend to his own hygiene. I believe he bathed, at least, since—as he moved forward, carefully, toward my long, barren, porcelain neck—I caught the smell of honey and sandalwood, and nothing more.
God, it's hard. In a moment, my life—what is a life?—will be changed forever. It will become a multitude of lives, endless, stacked one on top the other. No time to ponder this. He is reaching around to my nape, and the tiniest of hairs I have— translucent invisible fibers— stand on end. The very air tingles with expectation. He breathes in, seemingly sucking the entirety of air in the tomb into his bottomless throat. This is the moment. He bares his white hot fangs. Just a single pearl of saliva runs down the longest of them as he tilts his head to an angle. Yet it doesn't drip. He is a gentlemen of unmatched skill. He is in complete control of the elements. He will be my lover. Though I will never bare children for him, we will raise many of our own over eternity, the vampire way.
It should be a bigger deal for me than him, but how can I tell him? Can't stop now. I'm under his spell. Less than a second away. He brushes my hair to the side, moves in for the the bite. Our hearts beat at the same speed, coming into sequence, a single rhythm, the pattern that grows out of leaves and shells, a ticking of the universe. We are one. The tips touch my skin.
I step aside, "I'm sorry. I have to pee."
Dracula sniffs out of one nostril, incensed, as I clumsily retreat up the mossy steps to the wooden wine cellar and up another flight of stairs to east wing library's guest bathroom.
