zg_shadows | Maybe a metaphor

I wake up, tangled up in my Ductus' limbs. He's not awake yet, and so he is a dead weight, lying sprawled across me. His skin is as cold as marble, and smells faintly of dust and death. The room we are sleeping in is entirely dark, covered in thick heavy drapes which make the room close and stuffy. The scent of blood in my nostrils is inescapable.

I lie there, quite still, in the arms of a corpse, in a room that reeks of stale blood. I'm cold, and I'm hungry. Yet in this moment, I'm totally happy.

What the hell is there not to be happy about?

I'm with my Ductus, and I feel the blood tie between us, as strong as a heartbeat. A new night is beginning, with all the possibilities laid out before me, and I feel my beast rise up inside me, as fierce and passionate as I am.

I don't know what I'll do tonight, yet. There's a world of possibilities opening up in front of me, and I want to see it all aflame.

No, that's not a metaphor. I like the idea of fire, tonight.

By the time my Ductus stirs, I'm heading towards the door.

"Griffin...?" he says, in groggy confusion.

I grin, a sharp toothed grin.

"Did you ever feel the urge to dance in a fire?" I ask.

I can already hear the roaring of the flames.