bloodlust

an old rusty pot fills with the pit-pattering of rainwater drops as the full moon's light beams in through the shack's dust-covered window
the warm air is moisturized with the sweet smell of spring: spider webs and spring flowers are beaded with evening dew drops
the shape and details of the trees slowly became less identifiable against the sky and darkened into a silhoutte as dusk had progressed to the dark hours
he had became more and more of a stranger to her every day as the ghost had slowly turned his broken heart to stone so he could never love again.
there's a sparkle in her eyes as they open slowly and her fangs gleam in the moonlight, she licks her red-stained lipstick lips: she's weak from lust and the long, dragged-out winter behind her where she slept, she's hungry for blood: she'll provide them with only a small taste of hers, just enough to get them addicted: then suck them dry before they'll have a chance to abandon her.
lust and gluttony are her deadly sins
finally free from centuries of being chained down by heavy, rusty metal chains away from the world in a dark dungeon
a firefly sealed away in a jar, emitting it's vibrant glow
ravens flock and sparrows flutter as her skirt twirls when she runs through the trees and stops to dance in the moonlight, it beams down and fills gaps in between the tree shadows
all the creatures of the night gather to bestow their gifts upon her, to worship her beauty
the air smells of smoke as the flames arose
her sweet nostalgic aura vanishing into the night

she remembers the days of being a human, before she became a predator that feeds just to breathe
growing tired of wishing for him with every penny she tossed into the wishing well and wasting her wishes on rare shooting stars, grew tired of waiting.
the concept of love became less and less appealing to them as they grew older together, grew more hopeless.
writing every song about him and thinking of him with every love song she heard
she became so easily attached and needed too much, she became so easily dissappointed:  felt so easily threatened.  using jealousy to impress and lure.
she wore her pain as sex appeal and was good at it
she had been only an entity, haunting the decayed abandoned home where her heart could not seem to escape all her memories, crayon scribbles and bleeding ink all over the bedroom walls
trying to send signals and communicate with the living with what little energy she had left, but nobody understood her: she could only slur and mutter out her dead language.
the need to nuture the notion in the summer of innocence had failed
and she makes the sacrifice: surrenders her trust to the bloodlust knocking at her door
she must kill and become their slave to be safe.

-shelly scene