PHOEBE
It was benefit of the doubt that the blighted midwife had relied upon. She was small and weak, clearly unable to physically overcome most that she preyed upon. Surprise was her greatest strength, and a trap the alchemist had quickly fallen for. Though her nails and fingers failed to gain purchase as she grasped at his throat from the protective layer of stone, her teeth sunk into his skin just in the nick of time. The taste of his blood was sweet and thick, inspiring aggressiveness in the normally docile blonde. Her hands reached up, nails tearing and scratching at whatever she could reach, his face and chest mostly, while her legs wrapped around to keep her position on his back. Teeth tore and tugged at the muscle of his shoulder, head shaking violently, feral snarls muffled by her mouthful of flesh. He didn’t need to be dead. She just needed to be full.
When dark creeps in and eats the light
Bury your fears on sorry night
For in the winter's darkest hours
Comes the feasting of the Vours
No one can see it, the life they stole
Your body's here but not your soul
