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Aurora now sits at the bar wearing Jessica Rabbit's strapless red dress with its heart balcony, highlighting her heaving chest. Her wavy fire red hair tumbles to one side of her head, revealing her perfect profile. Sorry, I, too, have fantasies. She is stunning; for a second, I doubt my motivations.
Why don't you do right plays in a wordless piano version.
"Good evening," I say as I sit down at the Comptoir next to her.
"Do we know each other?" Aurora replies, eyelashes flapping like butterfly wings.
"We'll soon be acquainted."
The bartender arrives, "what will it be tonight, sir?"
"The Godfather."
Aurora smiles; my full black suit and slicked-back hair appear to have their effect as her eyes feast upon me, "may I have a name?"
"Søren, Søren Waldermar Tepes and you?"
"What a noble name, Aurora Davis."
"Nice to meet you, Aurora. Your name seems to weigh in grace, too," I say as the bartender poses my drink.
Here I speak, it's quite convenient, but it's an allusion.
Dreams are helpful; they allow me to hunt the pain. To enter someone's thoughts and home, I need an invitation that has not changed. It's one of the immutable rules we Strigoi have to sustain ourselves.
The same rules apply when we bite the blood variates' taste if the person is willing or not. I've seen vampires almost choke on the nectar of the non-consent. It's one of the reasons why donated blood has no inconvenience except being as tasteless as tofu.
Apart from that, I can read thoughts, but the person must not have jammers such as talismans like Chocolate Cosmos.
Once in their dream, I can shift everything except their will. The dreamer only remembers what occurred if their mind does not erase the sequence; hence I can be their knight, slave, master, or whatever extravaganza. The sensations they have while there are almost as real as life.
My presence here is therapeutic; that's what I persuade myself till Aurora crosses her legs. My gaze shifts from her red heels and up the slit of her dress, which reveals her long white legs, upward I continue to Aurora's red pouting lips.
Being a knot of trouble does not make Aurora any less appealing; the image of Mina comes to mind. Though tinted from head to toe, Aurora is the Ophelia of this era. Madness killed my beloved, and my error made her the Bloody Queen.
At this instant, my control over the situation weakens. Images of murders and mass executions pierce my mind like an arrow. The decor glitches as I recall the guilt of killingㅡ.
"So, Søren, what brings you here?"
"You," here you go, Søren, you've got this.
Aurora gently knocks her hair to the other side of her head to camouflage her blush and her Dresden green diamond eyes, which twinkle in delight, "wow, that's direct."
I release a measured grin, "why waste time?"
She smiles; Aurora is radiant as Mina was in the meadows of Egeskov castle. Why does such a pretty girl have to be inflicted?
Aurora gets up, "I've had enough drinks for tonight; I'll be leaving."
Her dress sways to the rhythm of her hips, which move from side to side as Aurora walks away. I take a huge gulp of my Godfather; it's decent burns. I gasp and get up.
Along the corridors like a stalker, I follow her until Aurora stops. She glances at me from the side before she enters a room. The timing is perfect; I tap on her shoulder, she turns, and I kiss her.
It's a dream, I cater.
Aurora reminds me, Ophelia, I'm her fantasy, and she's mine, so why not?
We swirl into the room like ballroom dancers, and Aurora pushes me back and unzips her dress while walking backward. Oh my, what is this?
The decor is my realm, but Aurora has her will power, and I suppose she desired to wear this burgundy lace lingerie set. Someone pinch me, I am damned, heavens gates remain a mirage, but this vision is close enough. Sandro Botticelli can leave Venus' clamp shell shut, as far as I am concerned. We hit the bed; she kisses me while she unbuttons my shirt, and I unclip her bra.
And like a programmed commercial or cliffhanger, a sweet scent as soft as vanilla hits my nose; I lose the connection, the room becomes a blur, deforming as the smell gets closer.
"Aurora, are you okay?"
This voice, it's Chocolate Cosmos, the fact they lived together slipped out of my mind. Now I'm back in the cat, Aurora is still whining in her bed with pleasure in her white satin nightdress like a candle flame in the wind, and Cosmos is at the door.
"Aurora," she repeats while knocking.
"Meow."
Yes, I speak cat, no comment.
I slide out the door, "oh, Pisces." She bends down.
No, no, no, don't grab me don't, hmm, she smells yummy.
As Chocolate Cosmos picks up the cat to pull it into a hug, her talisman slaps me out like a defibrillator shock, which has me back in my apartment before I can exhale.
What on earth does this girl have around her neck? It's not silver. It's more potent than any Strigoi repellant artifact I have crossed.
The sound of fluttering wings and pita-patter at my windows cover my ears.
Crimson Height became an obvious choice when I searched to settle. The city built within a valley possesses many coves where the bats can rest. At the border between Canada and the United States, Crimson is a neutral zone, a cultural hub, and a transit location for many species. Here the resonance of my stressful heaving triggers my companion's agitation. I inhale and exhale a couple of times, and silence regains its place. The bats roam quietly once more.
What was that cat's name? Lighter thoughts consume prompt angst.
Images of Aurora fill me; she is a good reserve.
As for Chocolate Cosmos, there's something particular about the girl. There's her blood, but also another element that is impossible for me to seize.
I'm physically attracted to Aurora. She resembles the woman I loved for a century; just seeing her alive even though she is not my Ophelia is enough.
Inna is enigmatic; she's a question mark. Thinking of her alone makes me thirsty; I mentally associate her with my food and beverages catalog, sorry, I cannot help it. I yearn to drink her blood until my desires are quenched, only to shake her like an empty bottle to see if I left a drop. What I feel is beyond my logical comprehension. I am as overwhelmed as Strigoi, preparing to be unfleshed by biting for the first time.
How many years have I repressed my instincts as I extoll the respect of human life? I am supposed to set the example, yet here I hunger.
Keeping Seconds away from her is effortless at my level. What stresses me is Inna's eventual encounter with a noble First. Another must not detect this woman before I can figure out how I can approach her.
