Macabre

It's funny how we disassociate ourselves with blood.. the crimson fluid that flows through us and provides life. Yes, we moreso associate blood.. with death.

She gazed upon the sharp razor held before her on an angle. Mist and tawny dew rained down upon her naked body, as her eyes regarded the silver-steel blade, a simple thing really, but something that could provide.. death.

drops of water gathered upon the instrument, and with the light flooding through her red shower curtain, the water seemed almost crimson.. a fitting thing, she thought, her sensuous lips curved upward.

Slowly, provocatively the blade curved down, touching the softness of her skin, arching upwards as if kissing the curves of her shapely legs..

a slight move could mingle the husky scent of dark blood with the water. It could travel down, and swirl as if not totally approving of the dark drain it is fated to descend.

Her eyelashes popped open, and she peered down to see a petal curve down her leg.

'Thoughtless nymph,' she scolded with mild amusement, as she set the razor ontop of her shelf. She turned off the taps out of habit, and the hiss of water disappeared. Only the mists and a very wet succubus stepped onto the tiled floors, her eyes open and unaware of the mind havoc her Macabre had created.