In Germany, I would practice the arts of magic, finding that there was something more to illusion than thought. It seemed illusion had a manner of substance. As I shared this with a friend of mine of lillin kine it would be my undying. In my discovery of this, and having shared this knowledge with her sweet grace a whispers mistress . She the mistress of the night would kill with her kiss, me for the first time.
I a musician in the dark, sitting gambling at a dark club, playing my little tricks: getting drinks for free. I play, I steal the show, only none of them know. Except for her, she staring longingly into and through me.
By the piano we sat she with me she preparing to play a cadenza of blood that night. How sweet she would play the music improvised, it would be a nocturne in lush red. We left that night to her apartment. I was greeted and played coolly an instrument of my own demise. Foolishly I sat next to her necking her as she to me. In a moment of passion I felt a piercing of my flesh, it was smooth and satisfying I did not fight.
My blood becoming a lush rich foam that spilled and rolled across her apartment floor, a carpet of red spilling out swooning, in the city of Berlin. I suppose we had too much fun.
The next night I no longer felt my heartbeat bleating its ordered rhythm. Only silence were their once was a beat. There was a letter signed with a blood kiss on a silk napkin, and it read "stay out to the sun".
I had this unbearable thirst, a thirst I could not deny.
That is the first night I killed.
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Going Home By: Stephan Handbringer
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