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Summary
Blood flowed like wine, red and sickly sweet, intoxicating too, so much more intoxicating than booze, or bud, or even a good fight. Tearing into throats like a wild animal, bent on destruction and sustenance. It wasn’t cruel—it was the necessary fulfillment of need. Once the initial ferocious contact had faded from fighting to feeding, it was almost tender, a babe in arms suckling at mother’s breast, nipples raw and tender but ever-giving, ever-nurturing. It was in these moments that life felt real, not the monotony of daytime, when sunlight dulled senses to dull white buzzing. In the dark and the chaos everything was simple. There were needs, and there would be satisfaction. There was hunger, and there would be satiety. There were no mindless, pointless bureaucratic rules, or unnatural structures. There was blood, and that was all she needed.