The world is a hot, sticky egg that fills her teeth with white static. She gasps, curling inward. She knows it's just a dream. One that no longer has any meaning. What has no meaning? The dream? This faux reassurance?
Herself?
Crunched and strewn with shell flakes, she peels them off her skin. One by one. They titter and flay reluctantly. Bit by bit. Betraying raw, palliating olive membrane. Until the yolk of her tongue reveals itself, and she can no longer shape the words caught in her mouth. Until finally, they are all on the tough, matted floor.
Until finally, she is a husk. A husk with no shell, yolk or meaning. A frothy, begging mess of a creature. An emptiness that can only be satiated by seducing even more emptiness.
Hunter without a cause. Follower without a god. Borne without a womb. A cavity that resides among humans and living corpses.
The girl they call —
The Final Messenger.
YOU ARE READING
The Final Messenger
VampireMe? They stay like that for a few moments, one girl's hand on the other. Niryn swallows a bit of saliva, making Adria's eyes follow it travelling down her throat. There's something hungry in that stare. I have dark thoughts too. And desires. "So," N...
