A morbid haze drifted vapidly through the park impregnating the space below the old oaks. Spanish moss stretched its fingers forth trying to grasp at the wet earth below like some bygone lover just out of reach. Lamplight moiled and mashed its way futilely against the mists, giving each small spark the eerie quality of melting into darkness, serving only to heighten awareness of the deepness of the night.
Somewhere nearby a heart beat steadily with silent rhythm. Each percussive throb felt infinitesimally through the deep currents of air that linked them by blood, its sweet cadence calling to him.
Blood, vilely profane and alluring in its concupiscent vivacity. Blood, tantalizing, forbidden, safeguarded beneath lusciously corpulent flesh. But no, not a delicacy cured in spices, the salty taste is just diaphoretic nervousness, human and natural. A nervousness deserved. A nervousness earned by nights like this.
In the mists light doesn’t touch the flesh, doesn’t reflect off turgid irises or the enamel of teeth. The light knows to keep to itself and haunt its own corner of the world. The mists belong to something else.
The palpitations grew stronger as passing zephyrs carried with them the hint of iron and danger. Disgust filled his throat with bile even while the temptation grew hot in his eyes. Covet, want, need, thirst; and the seductiveness was everything. Understanding fell away and with it the revulsion. At last, minacity had met moment in lustful surrender.
Somewhere in the mists, lips parted for a lovers embrace while far overhead, a full moon smoldered.