O.D. 2.22.2000 [1:00 p.m.]

(liz said once that guys grunt monosyllabically, and i retorted that monosyllablicity can be eloquent as well. this post was my proof. heh.)

[Victor DiSperanza]

Mon 20:47 EST to Inocencia: "Then ache."

He damns her with the words. He casts her from (the dark) him with those words (back to the light), though his touch does not leave her. The game is through, and it is but a game (...or so he would have her think...)

"Ache." He leans in--swoops in--dives, rends, rapes. He holds her fast (strength--death) and, twice now in a day, breaks the pure, stains the clean. Greed--he lays (such sweet) waste to the sheer skin of her neck, drinks the blood of the (damned) pure. Lost, are words barbed and veiled and harsh; lost, is the game, in a flood of red, of black, of blood.

At last--how long?--he pulls slim fangs from her throat. A drop of blood, lewd (and chaste) slips from the side of his mouth and is caught, deft, by one thumb. "Then ache," he says, the dark hiss of night--the sharp grin of the dark-- "Purezza mio."

He turns from her and he walks out without another word.