Am I Scaring You?

She loved to scheme, to play wretched games, and to dance in the night like no other. She was the eternal gift to man, a whore so longing, so wanting, to quench them of their burrowed sins. TO allow their aggression and transgressions to so willingly be left with her. To be placed within' her. A sickly laugh tainted the woods, left them drowning in her amused snickering. A demon in an angel's body, so lush, so perfect. Smiling, nay, smirking the wench lowered her svelte form to the ground. Upon her muzzle, was the lingering stain, and the rancid smell of blood. Thick in its metallic scent, she writhed in luxury. Perfection. She loved blood, even her own.

Vampyric in her own way, the Queen tilted her muzzle back, laying beneath the chill of the moon, and cooed, demanding the presence, demanding that someone come for her. They would, surely, take a willing meal, and one so perfectly designed. A platter so elegant, little did they know what tasted so sweet on the lips, what wanted nothing more than the hips, was going to sour their stomach in the worst of the ways. She was poison. She was danger. She was everything negative and sweet in several meanings. Innocence long lost on the figurine, she returned to her night, waiting for the demons to swarm around her in their own luxurious lust.