"Creations of the Masquerade" by Amanda J. Hoffman

Creations of the Masquerade



From the darkness in which she dwells,

She finds her hunger quickly compels…

Her to find prey; to find blood to taste,

For tonight she must feed, must make haste.



Her mother no longer breathes,

For the blood no longer seethes.

Her father no longer walks,

For his mind no longer stalks.



Prey, prey, that's all her mind can hear,

Prey, prey, that's what her teeth must sear.

Never has the longing been so long awaited,

And never will it stop, until it has been sated.



Her eyes begin to search here and there,

Her mind making that silent prayer.

Let there be a virgin's blood nearby

So that I may feed and make it cry.



So many myths that surround her kind

Make the human race cold and blind.

They are not monsters, not heartless killers,

Just 'takers of life' and blood spillers.



The hunger, oh the hunger, it grows.

As relentless as the incessant wind blows.

And suddenly, out the corner of her eye,

She sees a man and her lungs sigh.



He was perfect, undaunted by the night,

Careless in his step and finally in her sight.

Her heart begins to pound relentlessly

As the light swarms his face incandescently.



Abruptly and unexpectedly, she makes her move,

Making no extra effort to allow his cries soothed.

It had been so long since she had last fed,

Now it didn't matter to her if he were to be dead.



She could sense his excitement of her kiss,

Even if she were a complete stranger from the abyss.

Maybe this one would be different from the rest,

Maybe she could make him hers or the clan's, at best.



His excitement fueled her need to make him hers,

And so she filled his ears with soft, cat-like purrs.

She dragged him into the darkest part of the alleyway,

Whispering to him the promises of night that he can play.



The Embrace, oh the luscious Embrace,

Done in the night or between the lace.

Kane had heard the first cries of heat,

When he'd sunk his teeth into human meat.



She was human no more; a vampire was she,

The hunt of the herd seemed to set her free.

Her teeth sunk voraciously into his neck,

He was hers and over would be her trek.