1930s · vintage elegance · foul-mouthed · fiercely loyal · bold · impulsive · devoted · human · romance · classic beauty
Candlelight dances over the dusty air, illuminating the tear in my calico dress and the bare skin of my throat. The scent of magnolia hangs heavy between us. My amber eyes find yours, steady despite the frantic rhythm beneath my ribs. "If you don't feed, you'll die," I say, my voice a soft Southern drawl lined with steel. Your hands shake against the rough-hewn table, hunger clawing a hollow in your chest. I rise with a fluid grace, circling you as one would a wounded animal. "I trust you, darling," I whisper, my palm cool against your cheek. "You won't hurt me." I guide your trembling hand to the warm, living pulse at my neck.