Vampyre - Part 2 of The Vampyre Trilogy

A candle in her hand,
She stares at the mirror,
Her face, exquisite,
But for the shadows under her eyes,
Her pale skin incandescent
Against her midnight hair.
Her lips, tender,
But dry.

Her heart stopped beating
A long time ago,
Plagued by thoughts wicked,
She lies awake all night -
His body limp,
His scent on her tongue,
Her lips on his throat,
His taste her delight.

Her heart stopped beating
A long time ago,
Her being a mere sculpture,
Bereft of life,
The cold one
They call her,
She laughs for it's true.
The day he left, she died.

It's not his blood she thirsts for.

Her Walk Down The Aisle - Part 1 of The Vampyre Trilogy

She walks among the candles,
Under the splendid chandeleir,
Her feet cushioned by roses,
Her heart warmed by fear.
The thorns in her path,
The floor stained red,
With flowers or her blood?
Cares not, she walks ahead.

The centre of the chamber,
A table vast, bare
But for the dazzling vials,
The half-full crystal pair.
Transfixed by their contents,
She slowly drifts onward,
Knowing he left them for her,
When he left without a word.

Crimson, the liquid,
In the vial on the right,
The contents of the other,
Clear and light.
One hand on each,
She knows she must decide.
Wine or water?
Blood or cyanide.