dVerse Poets Prosery

Mary admired him…his dark lean stature, his black leather clothing, especially the air of mystery about him. The first time she saw him was a gathering at the basement club where jazz played every Friday.
Her first encounter she felt nervous but quickly drawn to him, following him to a private booth where he plied her with a sweet blood red wine. Mary was loosening her reserve.
Guiding her through heavy curtains, Mary followed with no anxiety, feeling stirrings of passion. She stumbled slightly and he swept her up to keep her from falling. She succumbed to his advances, thoroughly entranced by his presence. It was lovely she thought as he touched her, held her, kissed her deeply. Mary felt the prick of his fangs, and opened her eyes, realizing what he was. To her, death is quite romantic, falling back in his arms.




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