Her Misery Ends
On the cold, wet cobblestone she lay. Blood pooled around her dress as silver moonlight streaked across the puddle, a glisten and twinkle in her eye. Her corpse stiff yet unexpectedly, awakened.
She clawed at the stone wall. Her nails dug into the cement cracks, as she clambered unsteadily to her feet. The night was young. She sensed ice run down her spine, rejuvenating her senses, giving her still heart a coating of gold enthusiasm.
The unnamed and mysterious Lady made her way down the dark alley. A left turn brought her under the light of a gas lamp, illuminating the Houses of Parliament opposite. To her left, the Westminster bridge. Random well dressed gentlemen walked in the dark night, lonesome, seeking likely alcohol and prostitution. She could smell the desire, the lust. Her lust came now from her stomach rising like fire. She lust for blood. The blood of the man fast approaching her seemed fitting, and she could shade beneath a darkened lamp to conceal the blood stained on her dress.
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She flicked her palm, and the gaslamp went out. The gentlemen walked by, she moved behind him, coughed and grabbed his arm.
“Oh, my dear I am sorry,” he said. She watched his glazed eyes beneath his spectacles. Before he could move she wrapped her arm round his and he reciprocated, allowing her to draw him away from the main street into yet, another dark alley.
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