It was cold.
She was hungry.
It took all of her will to keep her eyes open, to not just close her eyes and give into the mindless hunger.
She wanted pomegranates. The fragrance, the sweet red juice slowly dripping down her throat, the sour liquid escaping from the seeds with every crunch.
Pomegranates tasted like blood. They tasted like warmth.
<s>They tasted like flesh.
Delicious, warm skin, still pulsing with life as she ripped it apart, her dress stained red with sweet blood, her wonderful, perfect victim hopelessly flailing, screaming as she bit and sucked and gnawed.</s>
She curled up into a ball, underneath a giant tree, and dreamt of ending her hunger.
-----------------------------
It was cold.
She was hungry.
She woke to howling wind, shaking windows, a crackling fire.
There was a man watching over her. He looked kind.
<s>He looked delicious.</s>
He saw her eyes open, smiled, gave a sigh of relief. He handed her a bowl of soup, left her side to doàsomething.
She propped herself up, stared at the soup û tomato, a deep scarlet û stared at him rummaging through a drawer.
Two or three steps, and sheÆd be on him, <s>finally able to drink blood and swallow flesh, finally able to be full, finally able to be warm.
Absorb his heat, rip and pull apart his life, watch his neck drip out a fountain of scarlet, relish in his dying screams!</s>
And something tasted like blood.
She looked down at the bowl in her hands. It was empty, licked clean of soup.
Slowly, she brought her finger to her lips. They were wet.
àShe was still hungry, still cold. The soup, the pomegranates û nothing except his flesh and blood would satisfy.
He came back to her side, carrying some old clothes, apologetic smile on his face.
<s>Pull him down, grab him, his neck would be in the perfect position, bite and rip and break him, dirty and defile his life!</s>
She handed him the empty bowl. She wanted seconds.
-----------------------------
It was cold.
She was hungry.
The food he gave her was never filling. It rarely tasted like blood.
She wanted him<s>, his life, his soul, wanted him to feed upon, consume his everything.</s>
His food was tasty. It just wasnÆt enough.
Cooked meals, thick blankets, a roaring fire, baking sun û none of those could kill the cold.
She needed <s>blood, fresh, warm blood, 98.8 degrees Fahrenheit, the perfect temperature.</s>
àWas she shivering? She looked at her skin, covered in goose bumps, caught her hands rubbing her arms.
She was shivering from cold<s>excitement</s>. Horrible, bitter cold, painful cold û
She blinked. She could feel his warmth.
<s>He wasnÆt dead yet</s>, but she could still feel his warmth. Why?
Then he hugged tighter, and she felt warmer.
-----------------------------
It was warm.
She was hungry.
It hurt to be near him. It was too much <s>because they were pangs of hunger, feast on his skin drain him dry kill consume end him break him</s>, and sheÆd have to retreat back to her bed.
She wouldnÆt hurt him. He was warm, so warm.
It didnÆt matter that <s>his blood was sweet, just looking at droplets made her shake in ecstasy, dreamt of it day and night, want it</s> want it want it want it!
She screamed soundlessly. It hurt being near him, it hurt trying to resist.
The food always tasted like blood now, <s>but it wasnÆt enough.</s> Beautiful scarlet, not false crimson, fake vermillion. Fake was fake, it wasnÆt enough!
She bit her arm, hard, bit harder to stop the scream, drew blood, ripped off flesh, suckled on the wound.
The blood was cold, rancid and rotting, disgusting. But it was blood; it would satisfy.
-----------------------------
It was warm.
She was hungry.
She staved off the hunger by deluding her senses, by consuming pieces of herself, by sheer will.
<s>Scatter his life, take it all,</s> make him yours forever!
She brought her arm up, ready to feast on herself, ready to kill the urges.
It was nauseating, the stench brought tears to her eyes, but she wouldnÆt kill him, wouldnÆt break him.
She healed quickly, she could do this forever. Feast on herself, feast on everything except him; she could resist
And then he entered the room.
-----------------------------
He was everything she desired. Sweet, blood a deep, deep vermillion, flesh savory, his juices bringing out all of the flavor.
He screamed, tried to resist, and she gouged into his wonderful pulse, again again again, and then the screams stopped.
His blood spilled forth, staining her clothes scarlet - his blood dripped down her cheeks.
-----------------------------
She woke in a puddle of blood. So red.
She dipped her finger in the puddle, placed it in her mouth. So sweet.
She glanced at the corpse, teeth marks all over him, his stomach slashed open, his limbs torn from his torso.
She smiled. She laughed.
It was warm.
She was full.
She was hungry.
It took all of her will to keep her eyes open, to not just close her eyes and give into the mindless hunger.
She wanted pomegranates. The fragrance, the sweet red juice slowly dripping down her throat, the sour liquid escaping from the seeds with every crunch.
Pomegranates tasted like blood. They tasted like warmth.
<s>They tasted like flesh.
Delicious, warm skin, still pulsing with life as she ripped it apart, her dress stained red with sweet blood, her wonderful, perfect victim hopelessly flailing, screaming as she bit and sucked and gnawed.</s>
She curled up into a ball, underneath a giant tree, and dreamt of ending her hunger.
-----------------------------
It was cold.
She was hungry.
She woke to howling wind, shaking windows, a crackling fire.
There was a man watching over her. He looked kind.
<s>He looked delicious.</s>
He saw her eyes open, smiled, gave a sigh of relief. He handed her a bowl of soup, left her side to doàsomething.
She propped herself up, stared at the soup û tomato, a deep scarlet û stared at him rummaging through a drawer.
Two or three steps, and sheÆd be on him, <s>finally able to drink blood and swallow flesh, finally able to be full, finally able to be warm.
Absorb his heat, rip and pull apart his life, watch his neck drip out a fountain of scarlet, relish in his dying screams!</s>
And something tasted like blood.
She looked down at the bowl in her hands. It was empty, licked clean of soup.
Slowly, she brought her finger to her lips. They were wet.
àShe was still hungry, still cold. The soup, the pomegranates û nothing except his flesh and blood would satisfy.
He came back to her side, carrying some old clothes, apologetic smile on his face.
<s>Pull him down, grab him, his neck would be in the perfect position, bite and rip and break him, dirty and defile his life!</s>
She handed him the empty bowl. She wanted seconds.
-----------------------------
It was cold.
She was hungry.
The food he gave her was never filling. It rarely tasted like blood.
She wanted him<s>, his life, his soul, wanted him to feed upon, consume his everything.</s>
His food was tasty. It just wasnÆt enough.
Cooked meals, thick blankets, a roaring fire, baking sun û none of those could kill the cold.
She needed <s>blood, fresh, warm blood, 98.8 degrees Fahrenheit, the perfect temperature.</s>
àWas she shivering? She looked at her skin, covered in goose bumps, caught her hands rubbing her arms.
She was shivering from cold<s>excitement</s>. Horrible, bitter cold, painful cold û
She blinked. She could feel his warmth.
<s>He wasnÆt dead yet</s>, but she could still feel his warmth. Why?
Then he hugged tighter, and she felt warmer.
-----------------------------
It was warm.
She was hungry.
It hurt to be near him. It was too much <s>because they were pangs of hunger, feast on his skin drain him dry kill consume end him break him</s>, and sheÆd have to retreat back to her bed.
She wouldnÆt hurt him. He was warm, so warm.
It didnÆt matter that <s>his blood was sweet, just looking at droplets made her shake in ecstasy, dreamt of it day and night, want it</s> want it want it want it!
She screamed soundlessly. It hurt being near him, it hurt trying to resist.
The food always tasted like blood now, <s>but it wasnÆt enough.</s> Beautiful scarlet, not false crimson, fake vermillion. Fake was fake, it wasnÆt enough!
She bit her arm, hard, bit harder to stop the scream, drew blood, ripped off flesh, suckled on the wound.
The blood was cold, rancid and rotting, disgusting. But it was blood; it would satisfy.
-----------------------------
It was warm.
She was hungry.
She staved off the hunger by deluding her senses, by consuming pieces of herself, by sheer will.
<s>Scatter his life, take it all,</s> make him yours forever!
She brought her arm up, ready to feast on herself, ready to kill the urges.
It was nauseating, the stench brought tears to her eyes, but she wouldnÆt kill him, wouldnÆt break him.
She healed quickly, she could do this forever. Feast on herself, feast on everything except him; she could resist
And then he entered the room.
-----------------------------
He was everything she desired. Sweet, blood a deep, deep vermillion, flesh savory, his juices bringing out all of the flavor.
He screamed, tried to resist, and she gouged into his wonderful pulse, again again again, and then the screams stopped.
His blood spilled forth, staining her clothes scarlet - his blood dripped down her cheeks.
-----------------------------
She woke in a puddle of blood. So red.
She dipped her finger in the puddle, placed it in her mouth. So sweet.
She glanced at the corpse, teeth marks all over him, his stomach slashed open, his limbs torn from his torso.
She smiled. She laughed.
It was warm.
She was full.