Wake up.Wake up!
I open my eyes. Everything old is new again. Brightness in the dark. New colours and a scent.
The sweet scent of blood fills my lungs.
Thick and fragrant.
I breathe it in with a hunger I don’t remember ever possessing. Every other colour of this world fades. The only one left is the deepest shade of red. The crimson pool calls to me, and I answer.
I open my lips wide, letting my tongue lap up every drop around me.
The decaying head of a man.
Dead eyes.
Mean mouth.
I don’t feel disgust. I only feel need. Need and hunger.
The thick liquid pooling from his carved throat in spurting rivulets invites me in.
I lift the head by the tendons still clinging to its neck and start sucking the sweet syrup from his arteries.
I hear my greedy slurping without shame.
With my tongue, I tease every last drop from his flesh.
I hear—no, feel—someone near me.
I pull my eyes away from the rotting flesh that is the meal between my hands.
I see a wooden throne. A beautiful man sits atop it. So striking. Wild and breathless.
Remember?
Hair too thick, too smooth, falls in waves to his shoulders. His eyes are watching me. Intently.
I feel.
I remember.
It’s the face of my lover. I smile at him, blood dripping down my jaw. I catch it with my tongue, smiling still.
I want to thank him for his gift. I search my memories for his name.
Lazarus.
With his name, knowledge settles in my bones. I crawl to him on my knees and present him with the bloodless head.
An offering.
He looks at me in confusion.
I put my mouth on his maker’s face and bite off the remnant of his nose. It’s hard like granite, but my new teeth grind it to dust with ease. I rip off an ear and bestow it to him in honour. When he doesn’t move, I hold it to his lips.
“It must be done,” I whisper. The words are ancient. Sacred.
Lazarus parts his lips, and I place the ear on his tongue. With a crunch, he chews it in three bites then swallows it.
