I love the morning after. I love to watch them lying still, sated, but empty. Impossibly hungry. Not all my mornings have this pleasure. Only a few. And in the vast space of time I inhabit, not enough. I crave this conquest. It is my eternal torment. Insatiable. Sweet.
The books you have read are wrong. I do not care for your embrace. I have no desire for your intercourse. There is no pleasure, no satisfaction, from my carnal life. It is my necessary function, just as you must eat, or sleep, or breathe.
I love this moment too, the fear in your eyes, the disbelief. You have been told about me, my kind, but you did not believe. You place me among the medieval relics you have chosen to discard. There with the monsters and demons that could not possibly exist. We are too scary to really exist. Aren’t we?
Oh Priest, I will enjoy receiving your soul. You will hand it to me. Freely. Desperate. Hopeless.
I am telling you these things because I want you to understand. I want you to resist. I want you to flee. Because starting tonight, now that you have seen me, you will not be rid of me. When I leave here tonight, you will not stop thinking about me. My image will haunt you.
Now, I am just playing with you. I will not touch you and you will not touch me, although you want to touch me. You ache for it. Even now, in all your fear, you want to reach out with your hand just to feel my skin.
I will come close.
No. Not now. Only look.
For now, you will be my witness. I will not infect you. I will not take you. When you close your eyes you will see me there, but I will not be looking back, until I choose. When behind closed eyes you see mine looking back, I will come to you, we will be together.
Good-bye Priest. I will be near. I’ll stop by to see you. I will feed from those in your church. You will see whom I choose, and you will watch them wither. You might try to stop me. Maybe.
No Priest, this is not a dream. I am very real. Your faith is weak, you do not believe in the darkness, only the light. But darkness absorbs the light. Always.
Go to sleep. I will leave you something to remember me. This is your nightmare.