Cloaked in obsidian shadows and pallor unknown to the outside world just yet, I ponder the time next the master will summon me with the lightning beckoning of his wrist into the flesh of his prey. Feeling his midnight cloak upon me, my body shifts with anticipation of the night’s revelries and tastes the crimson emotion of life to be had upon the wailing buds of my silver tongue. Oh, how the thrill of the hunt drives one to madness and bloodlust of gods that to interpret with such words of vulgarity used on the tongue of this plane would be impossible.
To perceive the agony of spirits, decades dead, and fear of a thousand years past upon my tongue will be the finale of bliss’s torment to the souls shadowed in darkness of my kind. The life flow hidden beneath fleshes of man can compel my lusts, so that no force upon this earth could keep myself form the apex of the wave of life given to me though the trials and decisions of my wielder. Resurrection will be brought to me each time I leave the obsidian temple of my home and enter the ruby existence of his quarry’s souls, founded of guilt. The wait, in which old Father Time seems to age centuries while clocks refuse to remove the hands from their faces, always brings rewards none could imagine through the life loss of other unto myself.
To be graced with the feeling of the deep-sleep - another’s life flashing before thine own eyes, and all the blood reaping pains within it, yet - lacking the ending demise, which will bring souls to the resting places that they had indeed knelt to pray at night’s end for, is to take the bereavement unto myself and inter the death of my quarry with a grain of salt on thy tongue. The chill of midnight moonbeams create a stamina within my being, crafting zeal of fire for the kill; the presence of my masters hand of metal upon me tells of life ending consequences and the iron-like sweetness of blood, so much like desserts of kings of old ate in banquets that would hold in arrest the beholder’s eye.
Like the lightning of the heavens, my soul flies from the shadows in all it’s horror and majesty, into the night where it glimmers in triumph over the awe-stricken face of my victim. Plunging into the darkness; feasting on the life giving liquid of the heart, the taste buds of my mind do my master’s bidding. My spirit tingles with ecstasy while I ride the bone of the wielder’s choice, biting into the marrow. My being rings with the screams for mercy of my quarry’s soul, seeming to rip their way through the bloodstained lips to call upon Death, shrouded in his clemency. Scarlet life runs down the length of my body, making me slip in my ruler’s hand and creating faults in my work. A gasp and a prayer make an attempt at escape from the gurgling throat of our kill, but soon diminished as I rush into his voice, sending the prayer to internment within my tongue of guilt and concealed guile.
It surprises me that the master should yield mercy to such a state of soul turned to poison. Contemplating this new though, I am guided back to my obsidian shade where I will lie, like a dagger should, ‘till summoned once more by the duty driven hand and common trust of my wielder…
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