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the blackest gift
It is a night of darkness, a song of ethereal pain, wolves vent their cry. The immortal one wakens.
Curling wisps of death shrouds her pale form, an everlasting agony.
Her midnight hair cascades over translucent ivory shoulders, and her full blood red lips part slightly, to taste the blood streaming from the pale flesh beneath her.
Now a night of ecstasy, I rise.
Copyright ©2001 Gennifer Bergman
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