A damp stairwell... Dark, cold light streams from an imploring crescent moon shining down, mysterious, oblivious to the burning stars around it. A young woman lies in a small canopy bed of deep blue cotton sheets that rub smoothly over her soft feminine figure. A fluttering white lace curtain flies about in a soft breeze, whispering through a wide-open window. Her pale skin pales farther in the moon's envious light. Pillows, strewn and scattered over the floor, seem as obstacles to a clean room's character. In a sudden motion, the wind whips through the room and clunks against a hard wooden door at the indistinguishable base of the stairwell. Through the blue lace draping down over the bed the last remaining pillow lying unwanted at the foot of the bed flies to the far wall from the woman's hands. A bloodthirsty scream emanates from the stairwell echoes the thud of the pillow's bounce from wall to floor. The woman as in a trance sits up in her bed, back straight, hands folded into her long, silky, black nightgown, peering with wide stoic eyes towards the stairwell. Two red pinpricks of light from the wooden door burn into her soul like fire as the nightly routine is to take place again. The woman cannot remove her stare from the points of light even if she willed it. She looks forward to her visitor.1 Burning red opals glide up to the waiting victim. Soft folds of black velvet envelop the beholder of the eyes, a male, who looks no more than twenty with black hair slicked back fancily, a tall lanky, masculine frame... and those burning eyes. His pale hands reach out in a tender grasp to the woman wantonly. She lifts her head, parts the lace curtains rimming her bed, permitting him entrance. He takes her in his arms, holding her tightly, feeling the side of her neck with his gentle, caressing hand. Still searching, he kisses her fervently, then feeling two bumps on her neck, looks into her eyes. She nods her head with a smile, tipping it. A crafty smile reveals two large fangs protruding from his mouth. Sinking into her flesh he drinks of her sweet blood moderately. Not entirely satisfied he withdraws; his fangs shorten into his jaw and the two fall into the darkness of night.
As the first rays of sunlight tip over the hills, a fierce wind proclaims the exit of the man with red eyes. The young woman awakens, looks about her, remembering this night as those preceding it; a dream. A flower blooms in the window, its scent flowing through the room spreading a sense of passion, of intimacy. The woman, Jessabelle, curls up, stretching in a tight ball, then pushes the sheets away from her body. Breathing deeply, she pulls back the lace curtains from the bed, steps lightly with soft, padding feet along the cool hardwood floor. The man with the eyes of fire from her dream, she has given a special name. She refers to him as Raphael. Her mind, unbending in its way, believes him only a dream. She summons him in life unknowingly, every night and bids him drink of her fresh, warm blood, which flows freely through her to him, sustaining his life. Slowly, though the woman does not realize it, she begins to detest and loathe the day and the sunlight. She finds pleasure and delight in the night and the cold moon shining down to smile upon her maliciously. She daydreams of her Raphael and his kiss and caress.
Jessabelle walks across the length of her room, picks out a tight-fitting black dress for her workday, and begins to change in front of her mirror. She unbuttons the top of her nightgown and slips it off past her feet looking at the floor. She glances up to comb out her hair and pull it into a tight bun but suddenly she ceases to move, it seems as though time has stopped its rapid pace. On her neck, she notices, two pinpricks of white surrounded by puffed up pink skin. Shyly she reaches up, hand shaking, with her middle and index fingers to touch the two bumps on her neck. She jerks her hand away. Not wanting to believe her dreams true. How could they be? Vampires were only am imaginary children's tale told for adults. Taking this all in with one heartbeat guiding every thought, she moans and falls to the floor in a wretched heap.