Rinse and [Re]peat

Falling in flowing almond rivers, the only taint on that pristine, glowing hair of royalty were patches of golden sunlight, puncturing the thin blinds while scattered like shotgun shells by the vines hanging from the shelves. Sorrow, his black curls twisted and trapped against the back of his neck by the slender, pale fingers of the woman, knitted his facial muscles together with frustration and overexertion, clawing desperately at the woman's skin. Along her arms, digging into the flesh and drawing out thick clumps of blood that filled his nails, kicking at her exposed, muscular thighs that glistened beneath the light and stood firm beneath his cascade, like she was making a point, in not backing away, that his resistance was futile. She might not really even have noticed his clawing or kicking, with an innate, animalistic, no, beast-like hunger tearing from beneath her eyes like seeds invigorated into sprouting by the scent of blood. 
I knew what it was like, I knew how hard it was to control.
I had been tormented, torn apart, forced to put the pieces back together and come to terms with the finished product.
There was a girl in my arms that would struggle through the same cycles of guilt as I had.
But none of that mattered to her.
To her - to Dea Pulchra Lamia - the woman that I had saved, who had saved me, who had wounded me and, in turn, I had wounded irreversibly, the renowned but unknown, the beautiful, fearsome, commanding, cold-blooded, hot-tempered royalty of a vampire didn't undergo those kinds of turmoils.
That's not to say that she was ruthless in her rampages, she didn't embrace or give in to her vampiric, to her nature as a monster.
She commanded over it like a Queen, told it when to arrive, booted it out when needed, and calmly told it to eat cake rather than flesh.
When she had attacked Sorrow, now, while she was choking the life from him, it wasn't because she was acting on her instincts as a monster.
No, that's not entirely true.
It was almost all instinct.
But she wasn't giving herself over entirely to it.
Aristotle said that being an effectively good person means a balance, where instinct is sublimated by knowledge, rather than one overpowering the other.
I wondered if, in all her time on this earth, she had ever heard of him.
That's just how unsalvageable this situation was, that I was thinking up such useless things.
My brain was fried, bled dry and crushed to a pulp, and my emotions had been latched on to this girl for a while now.
But nonetheless, that same feeling welled up inside of my chest and I couldn't let another person die in front of me.
"Let him go, he's safe, okay? He won't do anything. Rather, he's the kind of person we can talk this out with" I started, trying to wind myself up, pulling forcefully on the cord and hoping something would burst through.
Although it weighed heavy on me, and even as dazed as I was, I understood the implication, the sheer significance of what I was going to say, there was nothing else that I could say in this situation.
"He'll even become your thrall".
Her eyes turned to match mine.
"More than one thrall? That's absurd."
Well, maybe I should count myself lucky in some way, but the fact that she isn't eager about the offer might also just mean she considers it more useful to just rip off his head here and now then drain him like a popsicle.
Sometimes, living so close to such a bloodthirsty monster, one where that hunger isn't only a predilection but an intrinsic biological factor, you forget that sole important fact.
I was stupid enough not to remember it only an hour ago.
Right, it was mostly my fault.
That girl in my arms, it was my own recklessness and irresponsibility that had caused that incident.
Now, it was happening again.
"Well, can you at least tell me why he came here?"
Her pale fingers dug deeper between his levator scapula, while his eyes were beginning to dart wildly around in their sockets, and his teeth churned against each other.
"To find you. It seems he's somehow found out about you, and when I opened the door, greeted ever so uncouthly by a blade pointed at my nose" at that, she pointed her other hand down towards the pale emerald couch, where Sorrow's blade had clattered and came to a rest against the hardwood floorboards.
"Well, what the hell else could that really mean?" She asked, tilting her head to the side, and for all the world looking like a child asking her mother a question that she pretended not to know the answer to.
She was trying to justify, no, explain her actions to me, but all it did was put into perspective my own faults that had begun to crack and tear my life for the past couple of months.
How stupid was I to not even say goodbye.
Sorrow had seen, just barely, what had happened, he knew what I was, so he had come to check up on me, and,
"Char, what was it that you were doing when he knocked..."
"Hm? I had finished my bit of exercise and upkeep, then I decided to refill myself with a bit of a snack."
"...haha. Hahahahaha..."
I'm sorry, Sorrow, but really, what else can I do but laugh at this situation?
Where had all my conviction gone from earlier?
Something as stupid as that, your panting then that hideous sound of eating - of course he was probably on the brink of barging in with a blade.
Such an incredibly bizarre reason for all this violence.
"Sorrow wasn't here to kill either of us. He knows about me. He was worried that something had happened, rather, he was worried that I had... lost control. He was coming in to sedate me."
Rather than embarrassment at misreading the situation, sadness at losing her first fresh meal in months, or even anger at my keeping secrets from people I should approve of, while letting some of them out to people she doesn't didn't approve, her rather beautiful features twisted about into a look of incredulity that looked more like I had just admitted to quitting my job and pursuing floral studies than anything else.
With that, Sorrow dropped instantly to the floor, crashing against the low table and sending the books and cups clattering against the floor.
It looked like, even through all that torture, his senses hadn't left him, because rather than dart for his blade or bolt towards the door, he instead lifted himself on to the couch, rubbing the pale red imprint against his neck, and looking more relieved than annoyed.
Somehow, I resisted the urge to collapse to the floor then and there, all that weight on my shoulders falling to the ground with me, and turned to Char, who had already begun ruminating on this new turn of events, still and rigid, but her eyes concentrated and brow furrowed, lost inside of her head, wondering how to turn this into our favour once more.
She really was tall, so standing so still like that, with such a serious expression on her beautifully hard features, she really looked like some kind of impressive statue, but considering what she was wearing, it was almost like the statue of Venus more than anything. 
That's not to say Venus isn't impressive in her own right, that that statue is lacking, though it's not like I've ever seen it, or would know what could possibly be lacking in a statue of I ever saw one, but rather, she could have at least worn more than that flowing dress, who for all its myriad twirls and curls and flowing bits of sheer fabric, didn't do much to veil her toned, tense figure.
Maybe it's something like spreading out feathers to ward off enemies.
Keeping her muscles in view to signal that no matter who it was, she could crush them in an instant.
But knowing her, it's probably that she loves looking at her figure in the mirror while she trains.
Being an incredible force of nature, a monster with no rival, whose always calculating to such an extent that, fuelled by an incorrigible intellect, not even a moment was swallowed up before she could solve most dilemmas she was faced with, didn't stop her from being pretty vain at times.
More like, seeing her wander around the house, stopping at every mirror to admire her sleek muscles, really dampened any fear or admiration I had of her.
Sidling by her, I crouched at Sorrow's feet, who had miraculously already wholly recovered, and was now only unconsciously pressing his own fingers against that mark that hers had left.
"Keep your wolf on a better leash, Kissaragi" he said coolly, not even looking up towards either of us, but instead letting his gaze wander across the wall of foliage and pop plants that littered the balcony entrance. 
"Then again, maybe it's you who needs to be leashed tighter."