But the Dead Can't Cry

Her master assaulted her mind. A poor peasant boy with brown eyes wide in fear lay before her. His heartbeat racing, pounding in her ears. He is so young, she thought. She used his fear to control her need. She didn't want this. She didn't want to live if it meant death for others. Her master looking on, sensed her control, and willed the need to grow inside her. Against all will of thought, her body rushed forward, to his throbbing artery and easily broke the skin, releasing his essence. She sucked from him his life force, and swallowed the red mixture of life. The ecstasy that followed was heaven! For eternity it seemed she was floating, the warmth filling her again although her skin retained its coolness. She made her self gag soon after the realization of her actions. Her master only laughed as he watched the futile battle within her.

"That wasn't so hard," Dracula cooed in her ear. Too horrified with herself, her nails dug into her skin bringing lines of blood. She could only hate herself. How she loathed HIM! She began to tear her own skin from flesh, and thrashed violently. Repeatedly she beat herself to bloody when he finally appeared in her mind. His will overpowered her own once again, and she was stilled. Her eyes locked again on the boy, this time there was nothing but a lump of flesh upon the floor. His memories flooded her mind for no more than a second, a dog licking his face, a warm smile from her mother, proud moments with his father... Now he was reduced to this shape, with a small pool of blood surrounding it, which she had to control herself not the lick from the floor. She had done this? She had done this! She willed herself to cry, she wanted to cry, she desired to cry,

"But the dead can't cry," master's voice whispered her in head.