A storm broke over the swimming hole. By the time I’d gathered my wet things I was alone. Warm summer drops fell from the darkening sky. Night came quickly and the forest closed in, dense and unyielding. Lightning silhouetted claw-like branches.

I saw her like a shadow in the flash and wanted to see more though it seemed reckless. I turned and turned. Nearby a branch fell with a clatter.

Lightning again and there she was. In front of me, beckoning me forward. As beautiful and fateful as the flower of the Bella Donna. I could not run: her eyes held me. Her arms like ice wrapped around me. I stuck fast upon the fascination of my own disbelief. The body she pressed against me was as perfect and desirable as it was cold. She craned her head. I looked into her hungry mouth. Enough to break the spell. But too late. Her teeth pierced my neck. The warmth returned and with it the desire to feed her and feed with her. Again and again.

She spirited me away—took me under her wing. Our union consecrated next evening in the churchyard where she brought our prey. A pretty couple. A boy for her. For me a maiden—the first of many. The taste of immortality.

 

2011—Richard Holt / small stories about love (smallstoriesaboutlove.wordpress.com)

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