First Taste

“You’re doing so well for me,” she whispered, lifting her frigid lips from Ella’s thigh just long enough to speak.

Each soft enunciation of words sent the subtlest shiver enduring grazes along the pale, exposed skin. As much as Ella wanted to hide it, her body temperature was rising, and she assumed, to her elated embarrassment, that Ceraphine could feel or maybe even taste it.

The ceiling swam above them as she began to feel faint once again, just like before. Clarity was abandoning her in a rush of red that was pulsing through arteries and veins down to her hips and blessing her host with warm red release.

“Can… can I touch you?” Ella asked.

Ruby pupils caught the candlelight and flashed deep and hauntingly red as the undying one peered up at Ella from the lace-lined edge of her undergarments. Pale, silver-ripped fingers ran across Ella’s stomach and she let out a soft, gasping moan. They were pale in an unnatural way. Not white due to a lack of melanin or sun exposure, but white like the original color had been slowly drained, similar to dyed fabric that had been harshly washed again and again. The dangerous eyes closed and the creature nodded as she lowered her mouth back to Ella’s alabaster skin.

They’d barely spoken a word to one another before that night, instead only catching stray kind glances from one another across crowded rooms or softly nodding to one another when they passed on the crowded streets of Hong Kong in its early, humidity drenched mornings. Ella was always fanning herself, unable to pull her body’s yearning for Manchester’s grey and cold skies. This new territory was wild, tropic, and so corrupt that its soullessness seemed to seep into the very air. Everything about Hong Kong had been miserable and stifling to her, save for this figure that was now between her legs.

Ella’s hands were shaking and innocent as they extended towards the thick, dark hair that was well adorned and held in a high braid by an ornate antique hairpin. Curls moved between her fingers and confirmed that the being was real. Every aspect of her was cold and othered. While Ella was perspiring and feeling droplets of sweat building in her bosom and on her scalp, the creature was perfect and unblemished, as though the oppressive night heat and dampness had no effect on her.

Muscles shivered in Ella’s stomach tensed and she wanted to melt into surrender as the bite returned. Fangs punctured a few inches above her knee, just above the line where her stockings stopped.

“We should remove this silk, lest it get stained,” Ceraphine said as the tip of her tongue lapped up a stray rivulet of red.

Ella poured nervously and the spectre began to softly remove her leg coverings and modesty. She’d barely been exposed to her husband- a scarred, broad man fourteen years her senior who had money and little redeeming features. He’d married her for cosmetics and societal expectations before ripping her from the familiar bleakness of Great Britain and taking her to this wretched tropical addiction haven, where he left her alone day and night, unbedded and unfulfilled in every manner.

Ceraphine carefully folded the stockings and set them on the nearby table. She returned her ravenous eyes to Ella’s legs, which were still widely apart. She rested Ella’s leg on her shoulder and chuckled as she traced the patterning of a few small freckles that dotted the revealed flesh. Her husband had always remarked that he didn’t like the freckles- he called them blights.

“What are these red dots?” the creature asked as she grazed her clawed nail along the patch with an amused curiosity.

“It’s- they’re called freckles. Pale people like me get them from being in the sun. Do- do you get hurt when you go in the sun? I thought you go hurt?” she stammered.

Ceraphine nodded as she dotted each spot individually.

“It is quite painful. Enough of it will kill me. But it’s not instant like your western stories say.”

As she spoke, she slid her palms along Ella’s knees until the heavy edges of her underskirt and petticoat. It was all overwhelming and embarrassing for the innocent girl, who, only nineteen, was thoroughly out of her league. Not only was the creature draining her life from her and could kill her right then if she wished, but she spoke and moved with a confidence that hinted at lifetimes of existence. Her elegant, angular features spoke of a being that was once a human, seemingly Chinese, who had become stuck forever in an elegant state of womanhood that felt like low to middle thirties.

Fabric bunched at Ella’s waist and she felt ridiculous. More blood surged, moving through her legs and stomach and to her cheeks as her face turned pink with blush.

“What?” Ceraphine asked.

Ella blinked, humiliated. For whatever reason, tears began to cut along the edges of her eyes. Her corset was too tight to recline in. The steel lining of the crinoline was cumbersome and uncomfortable. She hated how her chin looked when she reclined. She hated her red hair that was constantly stared at and pointed at by the locals.

“I hate this. All of this.”

She gestured at herself and the restraining attire currently rendering her frumpy and half exposed. Ceraphine was poised and alien, wearing lightweight silk that left her able to move freely. Her full lips curved up and Ella could not tell if she was smiling deviously or disarmingly.

“I can remove them for you if you want…”

Murmurs came from below, reminding Ella that they were not truly alone. The den was beneath them, and by now it was late into the night. Most of the occupants had delved deeply into their dreamlike stupor, and were drooping in chairs and couches as chemicals flooded them with dependency. She had always hated the smell.

When she was younger and too young to know better, she’d dreamt of running away to London and having a good, pleasant life. Now, it seemed her future would be trapped here in this bustling port where the empire was slowly flooding the peninsula with drugs and depravity to offset trade imbalances. She was part of a hated group of invaders and perverseness and she wanted to go home. Or die.

Dying would be tolerable at this point as well. Life was numb and drugged, so death would be only slightly different.

Fangs pushed in and she had to cover her mouth to hide her cry of release. It felt like she was being torn. And she liked it as much as she didn’t. Feeling anything at all was a welcome change, and as Ceraphine grabbed her by the hips and carefully laid her back, she felt an entirely different rush of awareness.

She’d spent so long trying to be pretty for men and then pretty and desirable for her husband, she’d never stopped to appreciate how stunningly fair and strong women were in their own thin, birch-like ways. Ceraphine huffed and growled in animalistic pants as she drank another pull from the major artery of Ella’s upper leg. She gasped herself as she lifted her head, lips and teeth drenched in crimson.

“Delicious. Delicious. I want more. I want more of you. Take this foolish clothing off, young one, you are not going anywhere for some time,” she purred.

Ella whimpered but found herself unable to challenge. Maybe she would die tonight. As concerning as it was, she wasn’t afraid of the possibility. One good night would be worth it in the face of a foreseeable life of loneliness and disdain.

“Can you- you can, if you want- take off my- but please… don’t rip or damage anything. My husband would become very angry,” Ella whispered.

Ceraphine smiled and her fangs seemed to extend even farther. Down below, beneath the floorboards of their upstairs hideaway, the den hissed and moaned as the night moved through its own slow suicide. Pipes hummed and men and women happily drowned while the moon hung pearlescent and diffused in the wet night sky.

The corset loosened, then fell away, and layers of fabric were slowly slid from sacred realms, until the girl was all but exposed.