It is a night of sorrow, a song of dark desire,
wolves vent their loneliness.
The immortal one rises.
Night shrouds her brooding form,
a timeless wanting.
Her ebon hair cascades over
pale and tragic shoulders,
and her full scarlet lips part slightly,
to taste the blood streaming
from the pale flesh beneath her.
Now a night of ecstasy,
I remember her.
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