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The Blackest Gift20:21 May 24 2009
Times Read: 548
It is a night of sorrow, a song of dark desire,
wolves vent their pain. The immortal one
rises.
Curling, icy wisps of death shrouds her deathly form,
a brooding agony.
Her silken hair cascades over
pale and tragic shoulders, and her
full crimson lips part slightly, to taste the
soul streaming from the
pale flesh beneath
her.
Now a night of new awareness,
I thirst.
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