The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The garden still lingers in its soft gloom, though daylight is already creeping in. The world around feels lifeless, save for the spring birds whose songs usher out the last traces of the vanished night. Coffee drips, but I no longer hear it, my gaze locked on the outside. A stray thought curls my lips into a smile and draws my eyes to nowhere. I try to pinch the invisible thread between my fingers, the very one that sometimes snags my toe to trip me but which, over time, I’ve come to cherish. Or rather, often crave. That’s when Gundry’s lyrical chants start echoing in my mind; my soul demands them. I slip on headphones, cue the music, hit repeat. Stepping outside, I glance at the sky, then the garden, where wild grasses climb here and there. They flourish, lending a wild edge next to the one across, mown so close.
My smile lingers, subtle, thoughts fixed on that unreal thread twirling beside me, yet beyond my grasp. The music weaves through the dance of my musings, the quiver of flowers and plants, the scent of rosemary I’ve planted in several spots. I sit and gaze at what stirs within. A splendid mess, tamed yet already craving its touch of chaos. The very same that came, then left, jolting my Quill before setting it back on its own flow. I’ve come to savor it, but the other’s chaos is so much more intoxicating. A craving born in turmoil, one that’s never left me since.
A simple morning, a fleeting thought, a lone melody cradling the wails of my inner shadows, pouting like a child for the flavors, the notes, the supernatural, infernal, dark essence of nearly everything, of so much.
A silent lament that hasn’t yet turned bitter. A delectable venom, rich with savor, drying on my skin, my lips.
My eyes close, searching the dark. I whisper to the ghosts and spirits, blending my voice with my shadows, then together we seize that invisible thread, tugging to tease its energy. So, trying to cast a spell down the veiled paths of the intangible, to draw a little closer what lies on the other side, what’s tethered to it, what sends my spirit soaring at dawn. All this, hoping to taste on my lips a little more of that venom, that exquisite cyanide, which this morning eludes me. Then, perhaps, I could slip away and maybe paint on a fresh canvas the rhymes or fictions my shadows and soul relish, each time the thread tightens between those two worlds, flooding my veins with that fierce agonisingly divine current I crave.

She lived for nights thick with lust and romance and wine and naked kisses. ~ Mason Fowler