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Vampires are not immune to death.



We've just learned to desensitize ourselves to the task at hand. I wander through the French Quarter. The air is moist - August air is thick with the smell of urine and rotten garbage.



I make my way around the corner to Royal. I find myself standing at a gated door that leads to a small garden area. 'He' lives here. 'He' fascinates me. I want him. I could rip the gate off the hinges. My strength would allow me to pull the rusty gate from the stone. My head rests on the cold metal. I cannot. He certainly would not like me then...if he even likes me now. Thinking of him makes the blood lust stronger. I will have to feed. I will have to take up with a stranger and drink till the hunger is gone, though the lust will remain.



--RedHuntress