1. A Spring Decoration. Still Image | Written

[hismasterpiece]

[The journal clicks on at the far end of twilight, and the blurring image gradually resolves into a sharply-focused view of a dead fawn strewn with white and purple crocuses. White tea candles halo the little head, which is thrown back. Its tiny thin legs look as though they are leaping across the red-tinged snow.

Anyone who is paranoid about vampires in general -- or who is looking REALLY closely -- might see two tiny, clean puncture holes in the fawn's neck.

The following text soon appears beneath the image:]


I have made a spring picture. Everything melts and runs, and the ground is thirsty for secrets. And empty of them.

[So writes a vampire who is homesick for tombs and crypts and graveyards. This place is so barren of them. It won't do. Won't do at all. Still, she is pleased to have made this beautiful art out of a much-needed meal. Angelus would be pleased, too.]

Comments

[written]

[hismasterpiece]

I cannot promise the lovelies their tea? If they are deserving, surely...?

[written]

[tellmejohn]

If is a fairly substantial word, wouldn't you agree? I would promise nothing before confirmation of that worthiness. A reward, if you will, not a gift.

[written]

[hismasterpiece]

The only girl who shall open gifts at the party is myself. Only for me, my dear friend!

[written]

[tellmejohn]

There's sense in that. It is, after all your celebration.

[written]

[hismasterpiece]

The first tear happens in a flash, a flash. The rest of the paper I remove very slowly. I do enjoy seeing what is underneath.

[What follows that statement are trailing doodles and macabre scribbles: child-like drawings of horrible things.]

[written]

[tellmejohn]

[...Wow what does one even write to that. He'll just watch the drawings come to be, staring at the book and waiting to see what if anything comes next]

[Written]

[hismasterpiece]

[What comes next? A heart: ♥. After that?]

Call me.