A scream that pierces through the night; that’s when death strikes with her fleeting might. Veiled in sin and clothed with blood, death speaks. Pointing at you with a long, skeletal finger, rasping the words of an ancient sorcery; you are the chosen.
Death will send a tremor down your bony spine, her frozen fingertips brushing gently against your neck. Her tongue seductively gliding over your arteries, preparing for the curse you are soon to be under. The fear and confusion will stiffen your body, graciously allowing death to torment your soul. The smug look on death’s hollow face is powered by the fear in your expression, and your cowardice will have you softly panting, to which she will take pleasure.
A pair of cuspate fangs will slowly pierce through your delicate skin, layer by brittle layer. They’ll then attack your flesh, sparing no pain on their course; and finally, death will penetrate into your vein and without hesitation, death spills her precious liquid. A hungry mouth exuding with scarlet blood… she latches onto the oozing wound, suckling greedily like a starved infant to a mother’ nipple. Without averseness, the distress and discomfort you were feeling converts to ecstasy, a guilty pleasure to which sensual moans begin to diffuse from your blue lips.
At first, your body will react by shuddering violently and you will unconsciously disembogue shrieks of intense agony. Plunging into fits of shaking, your body limp and lifeless between episodes and with your eyes securely positioned in the back of your head, you begin to taste the metallic blood and smell the foul stench of death lingering in the silent air. Then, all of a sudden, limb by limb your body solidifies as the venom gushing through your veins crystallises your poisoned blood. A pure white aura seeps through your scarlet lips. Death has finished her ancient works; you and her are now one.
With a final jolt, your eyes are reopened; black as the night, leading into an abyss of emptiness which once contained your contented soul. You lay there, looking through your glassy gaze. What do you feel now? What do you see? Darkness, emptiness. Your blood frozen, your heart has been stopped, but with jerky movement, you stand.
Death has cursed you with her effortless words. A dead immortal.
You see, death strikes with her fleeting might, veiled in sin. And clothed with blood, death speaks. With her long, skeletal finger, she points; at your mother, your father, your children and eventually you, especially you, because you are the chosen.