The aroma, yes. The succulent savor. Its weight and marrow. I imagine the cooling flames of the elixir cascading down my throat, nourishing me. But I am parched and barren. A husk.
My need envelops every painful step I take.
Soon. I will need blood again.
The click of heels on cement rouses me. I move into the darkness of the alley. The growing cadence is maddening as the vessel draws near.
There... ahhh. A whiff of cheap perfume. The odor of nervous tension. The fragrance of pumping blood. I can almost taste the sweet nectar.
The pale light of a streetlamp brings my prey into focus. Her long hair bounces lightly off her shoulder. A face, rosy with exertion: a beauty only I can appreciate. Her anxious eyes scan the doorways, doubtless envisioning rapists and muggers.
She passes by, quickly glancing into the alley. I break away from the shadows. An arm's length away, I can hear her heart throbbing. I have become death, the destroyer of souls.
Glinding toward her, the smell of her lifeblood wafts over me, arousing me. She is only inches from my caress. My mind screams with lust. NO!
I pull back, my arm shaking. I cannot do it. A low moan escapes my lips. She whirls, staring into the darkness, eyes wide with terror. But she is blind to my presence, and with a low sigh runs away. I taste my own blood as it seeps between my clenched teeth, and watch her fade into the night.
It's the jewel of victory
The chasm of misery
And once you have bitten the core
You will always know the flavor
The split second of divinity
