Renaissance of the Fang

Stale air casts a lazy haze inviting the presence of the moon, a bluish tint to the stars' blurred glow. A paranormal sort of expectancy; blades of dew-enamoured grass replicating the spines of a porcupine, soldiers in disarray. A futile attempt at freshening the atmosphere. Undue loss lies here, life and movement reduced only to the bones beneath. A garden in memoriam. Gaudy arils are bright against night's dotted canvas, glimmering like baubles, a prize fruit for those foolish enough to feed. An alternative addiction for those with thirst charged in their system since their fiery revival, a new life with a predetermined structure. Those without death's fleeting escape. No soul could bear the curse of eternal youth and still host the heart of a mortal.

A vile hunger plagues those with sun-scarred wings. Further from uncanny, closer to monstrous. She disturbs the peace of those she envies, quakes the ground with her impassioned fury. She passes, barely noticed, as a brief shadow amongst those of trees and scattered nocturnal creatures, a slender overcoat trailing at her feet, a sleek head of ebony hair masking her features: though she walks with a determined step. Little sound follows. A mist veils her movements, hanging low by her ankles, suspended in heavy darkness.

The cold was almost tangible, sharp and sudden, followed by a shift from her calculated demeanour. Her each step became increasingly desperate as she approached the underside of the lone yew, isolated, only the dead to watch. Stretching forward, she tore a handful of red berries from the branch above, some falling rogue into the untamed grass, the remaining frantically consumed, sharp points to her canine teeth bursting their thin skins, pure joy written across her face as she shoved further handfuls into her deep pockets; somewhere between a harvest and a hoard, animalistic, angry. Her hands, teeth, fingertips, nails, stained a vibrant red, contrasting the monotony of ashen headstones and fast, heady rainclouds. A slow stream contorts to the shape of jagged rocks, around her calves as she steps down, carving a path through the water. Calm and stillness returns as she cups her palms, drinks from the brook, settled and purified - not an ounce of pretentiousness would be found in her being, not if you searched for millennia.

In all honesty the only thing I've thought about in the last week is 'vampiresvampiresvampires' (after Carmilla) and red berries so this was the result haha. I hope I've done the idea justice so I can finally move on. As always, thank you for reading and advice is ALWAYS appreciated :)

Song Suggestion - Hung The Moon by Cults