❝i've delicately chosen letters to form words and words to form sentences, each sentence a colorful paint stroke on the canvas of my mind.❞ [ #1 in poetry on 27/08/16 ]

He had spent centuries with only himself for company, he fed, tortured and killed that was his life and he liked it that way, until she came along and stirred something in him, something he couldn't and wouldn't accept. “If I were you I’d keep that stake sharp. Don’t expect anymore visits like this, next time I come I expect you to use that thing,” he told her pointing to the stake on the bed, and then he was gone.