Pearl did not sleep that night. How could she? Grief consumed her body like a fever. She was sick and sweaty, and great pain in her abdomen bid her to curl up, fetal, on her bed covers. 

Throughout, she struggled not to think of Georgia, and could not help but wonder (so foolishly!) whether the other felt as terrible as she. Pearl did not know why she had behaved so horribly— she had not thought herself capable of such casual cruelty! But the deed was done, and regret hung above her roof. Oh, all she wished for was a distraction, so that she might rid herself of this affliction of emotion.

She caught flashes of ill rest in such a state— until, at the stroke of midnight, she was roused.

Rain pounded against her locked window. Lightning flashed across her slack, glazed countenance.

“Yes…” she said. “I will open the window.”

Her vampire entered the house as a dense rush of fog. It entered her body and— as easily as if Pearl were leading her own— returned her to the bed.

Pearl’s knees pressed against the backboard; her spine drooped as the influence seeped out from her. With heavy fingers, she began to undo her plait, letting her thin hair run out and fall wild. The vampire congealed into something nearly corporeal, a cloaked human-like figure that hung from the shadows of her four-poster. It had a white face just beyond her perception, for all it allowed her to see were its red eyes, larger and more luminous than any pale imitation of light.

The voice cradled her ribcage. It threatened to whisk away her very being; to dash it against the rocks like an unfortunate vessel out at sea.

“I am the Vampyre that steals into your room as you sleep!” it said. “I am the Vampyre that devours your soul, for only human blood will glut my eternal thirst.”

“You are…” Pearl stared into its eyes.

“I am the shadow that haunts your days, and the thief that destroys your peace. I am the monster your family has sworn to destroy.”

“You are!”

“And yet–” The creature swooped down until it was almost touching her, a pale hand like death brushing her lashes. “You let me in.”

“I want you…” Pearl breathed. “Please, I am so alone. I want you, more than anything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Then show me.”

Pearl laid a hand on her collarbone, and felt the chain underneath. She undid the latch, loosing the cross from herself. She held it aloft. The vampire’s hand drifted beneath it; with a waggle of its fingers, Pearl’s memento of her dead mother melted into mercury slop, leaking through the shadow’s silvery touch and onto the floor.

Said it, “More.”

Pearl took her hem and pulled her shift over her head. She did not shy away, she made no moves to cover herself. She presented her nakedness to the vampire, without fear, without modesty. This it accepted.

A force pushed her onto her back and two cold fingers latched onto her sex, like metal clamps.

“You’d give me your body?”

“Yes.” Pearl was forced into place, for any movement would push those fingers deeper within.

“You’d give me your blood?” The vampire began stroking her, each light touch like lightning across her skin.

“Please!”

“And what about your mind?”

“I’ve no other use of it.”

“That’s all well and good, little one.” Its hand stilled for an agonizing second. Then, a single finger pushed its way through her folds. “But what I want is your soul.”

“Take it,” said Pearl. “And d-do not stop!”

The vampire pushed further inside her— it toyed with her, the incorrigible thing, moving so slowly. Pearl bucked underneath it. The cold made her insides shudder and clench.

“Do you know what that means? I’m certain you do.”

Pearl gasped as it brushed her nipple with its sharp teeth.

“You would surrender your very existence. Every distinct part of you, all that you are, would be mine to mold.”

“Y-yes…” A long tongue traced its way around her breasts.

“I will use you whenever, and however, I please.”

Pearl moaned.

Said the vampire, “You will fuck at my command. You will kill at my command. You would die, if it pleased me.”

“I understand!” Pearl cried. “I understand! I want you! Fuck me, fuck me, please, do not leave me alone! I will be your slave. I will be anything!”

The vampire’s mouth traced its way up her collarbone until it rested against the crook of her neck. The finger fucking did not stop, only kept up its heavy rhythm. Pearl yearned for it to go farther, faster.

“And yet,” it said, “something is the matter.”

Of course. If she belonged to the vampire, and it owned her body and soul, it would know her better than she knew herself. There could be no secrets. Still, Pearl tried in vain to turn away, tears pricking in her eyes.

At last, cried she, “Why did you feed on Georgia Cary and not me?”

Even the swirling shadows froze. A flash of lightning illuminated a still scene, and mist from the open window ran down Pearl’s upturned face. Her heart rose in her throat, and she wondered what she ought to say (or do) to have the vampire accept her again. Pearl was wrong. She knew she was wrong to question it, and never again would she—

“Am I n-not good enough? Is it because she is prettier, or—?”

A noise rumbled deep in her chest.  At first it seemed like a purring cat or a sharp knife against the side of a log. Then it rose and rose until it was bouncing against the walls of the room, shaking the bed’s canopy. 

Laughter.

“Oh, dear!” The vampire kissed Pearl’s cheek. “Of course you are good enough— you are such a good girl. But, alas, your father is too clever, don’t you see? Even should you hide the marks from him, he would find out. And then I would never have you again.”

“My father isn’t home tonight…”

“So I see.” The vampire grinned.

Pearl panted, still under the high of arousal. “But you will?”

“Patience, slave. Yes.” It began pumping its finger again, faster now. “Soon enough, I’ll own you completely.”

“Oh, but I want…” Pearl moaned. “I want it so bad. I want to serve you. I want to be…”

The vampire loomed over her; its ephemeral cloak billowed out, its naked body bared, but Pearl could not comprehend it— all she saw were its eyes, like the embers of hell.

It said, “You may be in luck.” 

Then, withdrew its hand from inside her.

Pearl panicked. What had she done? What had she said wrong? She could not bear— it could not be that— “W-what? Master—?”

The vampire’s long, white finger was soaked red.

Oh. That was why she had felt so rotten.

With a leering smile, the vampire slipped the finger into its mouth. Its sublime lips were stained Pearl’s color. The pain was no longer a concern; it was all heat, her body on tenterhooks for what was to come.

Cold hands hooked underneath her armpits and tossed her off the bed. She was pushed up against her chest of drawers, unsteady in her eagerness. The vampire ran its sharp fingers over her nipples before, for but a moment, its touch slipped away. Pearl made for a boneless collapse against the surface, desperate to touch herself but kept at bay by an unspoken order.

The vampire’s power over the room had grown. The shadows lengthened out with spidery limbs and stuck to the walls like glossy spores. Between her legs the creature slunk— and it was cold, and it was hungry. Though, by all measures, it now bowed before her, and folded its hands as if cupping water, Pearl felt no pang of superiority. She knew her place.

The vampire was within her, the most sacred door that she had let open. It was spreading itself within her in the same way it spread the darkness, bid her body to open her legs like a good girl. She was fruit being plucked from the vine. She was a horse first broken. It was bliss.

A ghostly hand grasped her thigh. The vampire rose to one knee, as if proposing, with its face just beneath Pearl’s bleeding pussy. It stayed there, grinning, cold power radiating through Pearl’s torso. It was a miracle that she remained upright. Every inch of her body was alive with gooseflesh.

“C-continue— whenever it pleases you, that is.”

The vampire ran a sharp finger along the edge of her lower lips, untangling her curls.

Said Pearl, “Please!”

“But you are so cute when you beg.”

Its touch was all consuming. With the barest of attentions a force pushed inside Pearl, a force that lit her heart on fire, that pushed all unimportant things out of her mind. It was only Pearl and the depth of her desire.

“Please, Master… it feels so good… I-I don’t think I can take it any longer!”

“And yet, you will. For so long as I deem it.”

“Yes— yes, Master. B-but— but it hurts. It hurts! Every moment that you are not inside me… that I am not doing as I ought…”

“Yes?”

“I would die. I should die without you! I will do anything, I will do whatever you say, I am yours to command, if you would only— please, please, pl—”

A long, inhuman tongue plunged into Pearl’s cunt.

Her whole body clenched around it; how deeply it quivered inside her, how it curled! Fangs touched Pearl’s lower lips. When the tongue was removed, with it came blood: so much of it, down her thighs, down her ankles, until it coated the vampire’s face from nose to chin.

Pearl shuddered. The vampire lapped at her thighs, sucking up the fluids that had leaked down the surface, slow and tender. Pearl forgot herself; she only understood what was being done to her, and how good and natural it was. She did not mind the pain, she loved it. How good and natural it was to surrender, how good to obey— it was all that she knew, all that she would ever know. If she were obedient she might be lucky enough to have the vampire kiss her pussy until she came again; it licked her until the convulsions spurred another burst of blood, and it continued to drink its fill. Good, good! 

“Hands and knees. Now.”

The vampire meant to make her a slave, which she had always wanted to be. As Pearl presented herself, and the vampire began to eat her out from behind, a great sense of fulfillment welled up within her. Was this what a saint felt when being martyred? The Virgin in the creche?

The vampire had carried her limp body back to the bed— Pearl had not noticed, and it did not matter much. She did not matter much, only that she knew it was pleased. It took her head and forced its tongue inside. Pearl tasted her own blood, and shuddered with sudden, delirious pleasure. They entwined on the bed, sheets ruined by fluids and rain; the shadows deepened, the sanctity of her household in flames.

The vampire pulled away, hands still pinning down her head. Red drool dripped from its lips. It said, “We’ve made quite the mess. Clean it up.”

“Yes!” Pearl’s heart flailed. She flung herself into the vampire’s arms. “But— oh, don’t leave me!”

The vampire stroked her bare shoulder. “I won’t.”

Pearl keeled sideways as the body against her vanished. She let out a shout of indignation, which her own hand swiftly silenced. The red fog descended, and Pearl was possessed once more.

The vampire took the reins. It stretched her arms above her head, then ran her hands down the length of her bare body. It twirled her hair around her fingers. It made her smile, then shudder, then close her eyes. It drove her upwards, stumbling onto her shaking feet.

It seemed the vampire lacked certain self-preservation instincts. One foot twisted the wrong way around the other, and Pearl put up no hands to break her fall. Her cheek smashed against the hardwood floor.

“Heh…he…ha! Ha, ha, ha!” Pearl convulsed in laughter even as the rest of her remained rigid, blood spilling between her teeth. “Master, you must come and kiss me now, too!”

The vampire wrenched her back up. Pearl tottered over to her nightstand, where it bid her open the tinderbox and light a candle.

“Master, I don’t know if…” Her shaking hand struggled, flint against striker, but there wasn’t enough pressure. She sighed. The vampire shut her mouth.

Swish! Sparks caught on the char cloth. The tiny pinprick of light consumed all her vision; she took up a brimstone match and, with the tiny, precious flame in hand, the vampire had her reaching for the candle’s wick.

Downstairs, someone knocked on the door.

The match slipped from her fingers. It fell against the floor; for the first time, Pearl fought the possession, so desperate she was to know who had arrived. But the vampire kept her face from the door, and had her stomp on the match to snuff it out. Pearl’s vision went blue with pain. A moan slipped through her teeth.

Then, a wave of calm washed over her; the pain went away at once, and an invisible hand stroked her hair.

“Where do you keep your servants?” asked the vampire.

“Our maid… in the attic…” The tension gone, Pearl lit the candle.

The vampire then released her for but a moment; Pearl collapsed, only saved from the hard floor by the vampire’s now solid hands. Pearl’s head lolled backwards and the vampire met it, thrusting its tongue between her lips to lap at the blood on her teeth.

Pearl giggled and wrapped her arms around its neck. It was like cradling a garden statue in winter, like caressing all the curves of marble Aphrodite. Pearl strained to raise her face to kiss its white throat.

“I will be right back.” It pressed its lips underneath her jaw.

A great sadness welled up within Pearl. But the vampire took pity on her– she did not remember the wait. The next she recalled, she was kneeling, her bleeding pussy against the cold floor. Her hair was undone, her legs twisted at odd angles. Nearby, the hearth had been lit, and the screen pulled. The maid stood, pouring a steaming bucket into the copper tub.

Pearl approached the maid. In the dim tremulous light, her gray eyes were glazed, and saw nothing at all. Pearl put her face right up to the maid’s, and still the other remained enthralled.

“Is it truly so easy for you?”

The shadows around the candle breathed. “You’ve given me strength.”

“Good…” Pearl kissed the maid on the mouth. There was no reaction, no response but a sudden stillness. Pearl moved to undress herself, only to recall that she was already naked. The maid picked up the bucket and walked away.

Pearl slipped a leg into the water. The maid turned to stand at attention, her back to the door. Pearl shivered, sinking into the scalding water, as she watched the other standing there in her nightclothes, so blank and obedient.

Steam filled the air. The water in the tub swayed as Pearl lowered herself, her naked bottom against the fabric lining. Her fingertips dallied against the surface of the water. She ran hands through her thin hair.

The shadows pulsed, and the maid responded. She moved beyond the screen, and throughout the proceedings, Pearl could hear the rustle of movement and stiff, heavy footfalls.

When Pearl looked up, the vampire was sitting on the edge of the tub.

Pearl breathed deeply, and leaned backwards. Her head pressed against the hard edge; her hair swirled in eddies around her. She shifted so that her chest was out of the water. Her breathing stayed slow and even; the water rose and fell with her diaphragm.

The vampire reached out a single hand. It ran a finger from her navel to the bottom of her chin. The water turned rosy with what remained of Pearl’s blood; as its dripping fingers hovered before Pearl’s mouth, she moved on her own and began to suck.

The vampire spoke, but only to itself. “Yes… you’re coming along nicely.”

“Mmm…” Pearl’s eyelids fluttered. The vampire’s attentions held her completely– its sharp nails on her teeth, the hot water against the cold radiating between her moving tongue.

The house moved. A floorboard creaked. They both turned to the door.

The vampire waved to the maid, its cloak billowing with the movement. She bowed and left the room.

The fingers hooked around the soft inside of Pearl’s cheek. The vampire tugged, and Pearl was back to staring into its eyes.

“Now…” it said, “we’re going to have to be quiet. But it's not your place to fret, slave. You’re going to wash yourself up, and give me a show.”

Despite the vampire’s orders, even as she fetched the soap, Pearl listened for the path of the maid’s step. The stairs creaked as the woman walked, slightly unsteady, down the stairs and towards the laundry.

Pearl raised her legs, though still folded. They bumped against the sides of the tub as stretched herself wide open, so that the vampire may see every inch.

She lathered the soap in her hands and rubbed her shoulders, arms crossed. She watched her master watching her, and blushed; lashes fluttering, she cupped her breasts and rolled them under her fingers. The faint crust of blood turned the lather pink.

Though the vampire said nothing, Pearl felt all that it felt, and it was pleased. How it stared at her from its perch, biting its thumb with a crooked half-smile, as if Pearl was the one who had enraptured it. Only the power of the room’s quiet, under the vampire’s orders— the silent companion of candlelight, the crackle of the hearth, the lapping water— prevented Pearl from crying out in joy and lust, professing her love loudly to anyone that may hear.

Fingers splayed. She ran her palms down her stomach. She kneaded the inside of her thighs. Dried blood and soap turned the water murky. Now, the only view the vampire had of her cunt was the dark blotch of her pubic hair.

A shadow passed underneath the door.

Her master leaned over the tub. It reached down, below the water, to wrap its hand around Pearl’s leg. It began to pull it out of the tub.

Pearl laughed behind her hand, hooking an elbow around the edge to keep from dunking her head. Water splashed all over the floor.

“You really need me, don’t you?” The vampire teased her, pressing its fingers in the crook of her thigh. “Is that what you call a show?”

Pearl laughed. “I was trying my best, M–!”

Creak!

Her voice died.

A sudden puff of air hit Pearl’s cheek. She looked about her, fretting that she was alone– until she saw a small bat, hanging from its hooked wings on her ceiling. It still spoke in her mind, a new (shriller) cadence.

“GET UP GET UP ACT NORMAL.”

Pearl lifted a leg out of the tub, spilling even more water. There was a hacking cough on the other side of the door. The footsteps continued; Pearl mirrored them over to the door. She wrenched it open.

On the other side was her father, still in his overcoat. His clothes were wrinkled, and a fresh bruise smarted on his cheek.

“Father…”

He coughed again. “Moira came down and informed me of your… illness.”

Pearl nodded. “Yes… it was simply awful. I…”

“VOMITED ON SHEETS MAID CLEANING NOW.”

“... Believe that she’s switching my sheets now,” Pearl said. “And then I’ll go off to sleep.”

“Yes.” Father was staring very intently at her.

Pearl shifted her footing. They both stood in silence. The longer it drew on, the more dire his expression became. 

Said Pearl, “Did you find the creature that hurt Georgia so?”

“No.”

“Ohh… then what is…?” She gestured to his blackening face.

He rubbed it and grimaced. “Her husband.”

“Will you try again tomorrow night?”

“Pearl…” Father’s lips parted, as if speaking were a terror. “You’re naked.”

The spell over her broke. All at once, Pearl became aware of herself– she didn’t need to look. The cold bathwater was forming a puddle under her feet.

She was naked, she was aroused, and the subject of her arousal— her father’s worst enemy— was right above her.

“STUPID STUPID STUPID.”

Pearl hurried to hide her shame, holding an arm over her chest and crossing her legs.

“I’m– sorry. I’ve had quite a fright, and the maid said I might have a fever. I– I must not be in my right mind.”

“LEAVE LEAVE LEAVE.”

She began to close the door. Father reached out when the gap between them was barely more than his hand’s width, to brush her forehead. Pearl shied away before more than just his fingertips could brush her hair away.

“I understand, little one.” He looked deeply sad. “I understand. I’m sorry for frightening you. Please, get on back to bed.”

Ephraim Spice was dying.

He’d sustained a grievous wound from the vampire’s attack, and been left to bleed to death. He’d been paralyzed as the vampire had consumed his companions; their blood had splattered on his face, and he swore that perhaps he did die for a scant moment. Those men, whose entire lives were ahead of them— why should he live while they died? For what purpose would survival be worth?

And yet, Spice knew. It was his duty to end it all. And despite the blood welling on his skin, the unbearable pain, he dragged himself upwards and crawled. He crawled and crawled until he came across the dark maw of a tomb, and down into the blackness he went.

With his hand bracing the hole in his body, he slouched against the walls. His head was filled with fog and evil. The thought that he had failed, that he was to be destroyed by his worst enemy, haunted his death knell dreams. The reaper visited him in this moment, swooping from the dirt ceiling on strands of gossamer. He cried out in pain and desperation.

That is when Shackley found him, and tended to his wounds.

When Spice woke, he knew. He could smell the dank air and drying blood; he could hear the ever distant call of birds. Outside of this dark and horrible place, daylight was upon them.

And there, in the tomb, were the three of them: Spice, Shackley, and Morgan.

“I think, sir,” said Shackley, “we should focus on escaping.”

Even Morgan agreed.

But Spice sprang up. Though Shackley shouted, imploring him, as he was still on the brink of death, to rest awhile, Spice could not. “No, you fools! Don’t you see?”

“What is it?” said Morgan.

“We are in a tomb!”

The tomb, he was sure, where the monsters must rest.

Yes— fate had brought him here, for a purpose, for vengeance. A torch was lit, and from the shadows appeared a stone sarcophagus; its designs, protected from the elements, were richly painted. There were grave goods scattered about, not carefully placed; dresses and gold jewelry, instruments and hair combs.

“Morgan,” Spice croaked. “Open it.”

Shackley protested further, but Spice was not about to be cowed. Though he was forced to his knees by the pain, he remained awake— only barely. From his vest he withdrew his hawthorne stake.

Shackley gasped as, with a great scraping, the stone cover was removed. And indeed, resting in unnatural, pallid slumber, was the vampire.

It was the girl who had wounded Spice so, who had so gleefully murdered those boys (and countless others). In gentle repose she lay, garish painted eyes milky and wide, surrounded by flowers grown with the blood of men.

Shackley was in a right panic. “Captain— we ought to find the survivors first, while we still have sunlight. She will not be going anywhere, but if any of the men are injured— it is only a matter of time, sir— sir!”

Spice positioned the stake above the heart.

“Are you going soft on us?” Morgan spat. “Let him kill the whore.”

With a swift strike of his mallet, he struck. The stake cleaved through her stone skin like a knife in butter. From its sides welled muscle and tissue, wet and red. 

The man struck deeper; blood spurted from her body. It splashed upon the face and filled the sarcophagus. With a third strike, the tip of the stake ran through, and impressed itself into the stone underneath. 

Pain pain pain. Was that all that life was? Pain pain pain. You are trapped, and there is no way to bring about a peaceful end. It is all blood. It is all senseless. Even her dreams were pain. How could he do this? She was not even awake. She did not know that she had done wrong. Pain. Pain. When she woke, death would come— pain, pain, screaming and lashing around the penetrating object until she was extinguished. To witness it, to feel it, for the stake to live in your skin, to grow through, how could one bear it?

Only Shackley turned away from the scene.