The day fades into extinction and cold darkness resumes it's claim on the sleeping city. A brisk, steely October wind whips through the brittle leaves in the trees, making shadows jump and dance on the bedroom wall. On an antique four-poster bed, bathed in the moonlight, lies a young woman. She has been stripped naked, her limbs stretched taut and bound to each post with black silk. Her long red hair spills outward onto the pillows around her. She is in a deep but restless sleep, drugged by her abductors and left alone as a simple offering for His coming.
The heavy curtains shudder slightly, then become still again. A cool mist creeps into the room, wafting through an open window and flowing like a heavy fog along the hardwood floor. The sleeping woman becomes restless. Tendrils of the gray fog wrap around the four-poster bed. The woman moans quietly as it creeps over the satin sheets and embraces her naked flesh with its soft caresses. She begins to squirm slowly, seductively wriggling her body as she alternately pulls on the silk bindings constraining her arms, and then her legs, only allowing the captive a certain freedom of movement, while forcing her to remain hopelessly spread-eagled on the bed.
Then the mist pulls away, as quickly as it had entered. The floor creaks, and in the far corner of the room the dark shape of a man appears. He stands motionless, while taking in his surroundings. He is a remote, majestic figure, shrouded in a long black cloak hanging loosely off his broad shoulders. His black hair swept straight back, and his unblinking eyes sparkle with hideous life. Moving toward the dresser, he passes one hand over an unlit candle and it sparks to life. The candlelight seems to flow through his body and there is no reflection of him in the dresser mirror.
The dark figure glides silently across the room and stops at the foot of the bed. The young woman cries out softly, knowingly. She is aware of his presence, even in the depths of her slumber. He studies her form -- the soft swells of her young breasts, the blush in her cheeks, the hair splayed out on the pillow. She is warm and so, so full of life. His servants have chosen well with this one. His hard eyes draw downward to the neatly trimmed mound between her open legs. Two desires began to burn within him, one ancient, the other ageless.
He raises his arms and allows the cloak to fall behind his shoulders. He is completely nude. His body is lean but not sparse, his muscles are powerful yet sensual. Taking a deep breath, he slowly rises from the floor. The young woman's breathing becomes irregular, gasping as if she were trying to wake herself up. The black cloak flutters wildly behind him as he glides like a feather over the bed, their bodies almost touching, his long shaft fully erect. The woman turns her head from side to side, her wrists twisting helplessly within the silk bindings that imprison them. He gazes into her eyes, and presently she grows calm, her fears chased away and replaced with deadened sleep. And something else -- a longing that has been buried deep within the darkest recesses of her soul. He slides his hand across her breasts, she shivers from his ice-cold touch, her nipples become taut and erect. He lowers himself upon her, relishing the warmth of her young body. She beckons him with a hot sigh. The wind outside howls like someone screaming in pain, the curtains in the window snap violently, but the woman is unaware, lost in her own dreams. Her full lips part in a smile. In her mind's eye, she is in the arms of a magnificent warrior in glittering armor and burgundy robes, the man he once was, so many centuries ago, before his Becoming.
