ZamielMature

It was within that moment, as tendrils of ghostly smoke wound their way up from her parted lips, that Agathe finally recalled what it meant to be alive. Tiny droplets of rain wove and latticed their paths across the moonlight, beautiful crystalline insects plummeting, dancing, colliding with each other: a final midair waltz before they met the earth and shattered. She breathed the wonderful, intoxicating smell of soaked grass as it mingled with that of the cigarette smoke, a bittersweet perfume in the frozen air. Only dimly aware of the growing chill, the rugged breaths of the man who lay beside her, and her own water- saturated clothing, she drifted into a state close to unconsciousness as her mind reeled over the pure perfection of such a place; such an existence, such bliss.

“A gorgeous night” the man whispered, his eyes half lidded as he shielded them from the falling droplets with a thick, muscular forearm. He still wore his military uniform, a stormy grey-green overcoat pinned with the Golden Eagle and Iron Cross of an officer, although it was now heavily soiled and spattered with rich crimson. His trousers were still open, and he now bore fresh stains of mud on both his knees. “Young lady, remind me again of your name” His eyes flickered to glance at her, a smirk etched deeply into the harsh yet well- drawn lines of his mouth. “Agathe,” she replied as a murmur, twisting her body to lay on its side facing him. “My name is Agathe. And yours?”
“John Eberstark. Officer.” he replied with strained formality and, as Agathe thought she detected, a noticeable sense of pride. Silence.

Agathe chose to once again drink in the atmosphere of her surroundings, the emerald grass which appeared almost black under the night’s dark, choking veil. Just off the hill an impenetrable wall of trees spread their gnarled branches in the moonlight, like wrinkled, ancient giants waking from a deep slumber. She traced the shadowy suggestions of movement between them, the clattering of their skeletal limbs against each other. John studied every detail of her avidly, from her deep rust- coloured auburn hair to the narrow, feline eyes which gazed out from behind circular wire- framed glasses. The sensuous curves of her lips were so inviting, so hypnotic that he felt drowned within the mere sight of them. He continued to watch them as she slid back on top of him, legs straddling his slim hips and hands either side of his head. He couldn’t help but smile once again as he felt that phenomenal pressure, the sweetest friction between the two bodies and the warmth radiating from a place he longed to be. She bent low to whisper into his ear, the warm exhalation moistening the outer shell. The grip of her thighs contracted and tightened around his lower body, forcing a low, barely suppressed moan from his chest. Passing her hands under the jacket she dragged her nails along the length of his flesh, licking and sucking at the sides of his jawbone.

“Officer… It was nice meeting you,” her words came as a mere susurration, like the passing of a breeze, so very gentle, so innocent. However, as John once again looked upon her face it was befouled, tainted, tarnished with a malice and inhumanity so profound it could have been born of Zamiel himself. The tatters of his final words gargled desperately from his throat: thick, hot blood spewed from his mouth as foam and rubies as Agathe’s hands drove themselves yet further through the centre of his body. Displaced remnants and ribbons of organs came swimming up around the small pool around her forearms, as she finally made the push to force her elbows into the inside of his ribcage. She bent once again to rest her forehead against his, varnished with sweat. His eyes seemed to cloud over a magnificent ivory as they rolled back into his head, his brow softening into a kind of resignation which was almost peaceful. She couldn’t help but let out a short trill of laughter, running her tongue along his chin to capture a few droplets of the cascading fountain of blood. She kissed the top of his head quickly and, with a well-acted look of sympathy and compassion sighed one last “Goodnight,” before whipping her arms from his pale, recumbent body and plunging her teeth into the quickly slackening jugular.

The End

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