Celebration

She took out the black box from the hidden draw and caressed its ebony lid, placing it reverently on the counter top. With painted lips she skimmed its surface, so cold, so cold. From between her breasts she drew a silver key on a silver chain and placed it in the lock, releasing the mechanism with a soft 'click'.

Behind her the wind swept in through the open window, making the candles she had set out flicker and dance. The room was bare except for the elaborate wooden mantelpiece that framed the unlit fireplace and the black dresser with its dozens of hidden compartments, giving the night air nowhere to go. There was nowhere to go.

The creak of her leather outfit was loud in the room's oppressive silence, the sputter of the candles and the sighing of the wind the only other sound. She set her fingers to the box and swung back its lid. Candlelight played over the dark stains of water rot that crept up the walls.

The box opened like the midnight sky, its depths velvet black and glittering with gems like small constellations. Her painted nails skimmed the tiny golden objects, aglitter with the burning fires of emeralds, sapphires, diamonds. There were citrines as yellow as liquid honey and moonstones as white as lies told to impatient lovers.

She contemplated opals and chalcedonies, dark tigereyes and the thin pink sheen of rose quartz. Tourmalines nestled with amethysts that had been bonded with turquoise. Tiny images of gods and magic were sculptured from jade, jasper, beryl and lapis lazuli.

Exquisite in form and colour they tempted her each in their turn. But it was the simple garnet, blood red and seemingly shinny wet, that she took from its place. Balanced carefully between thumb and forefinger she eyed its beauty, then turned the golden spike at is base down and speared it through the hole in her flesh made ready for it years before.

The nose stud glistened like a drop of blood, wandering spray perhaps from the red gore that lined her lips and enamelled her nails. The long talons made scritching noises as they re-locked the black box, shutting the baubles away from the light and rehung the key between its rounded guardians.

With reverence the treasure was replaced in its secret draw and she stood, shadow in the shadows, darkness and living red. She was pleased with her choice. Ruby would almost have been as appropriate, but tonight was for younger, paler red. Tonight was for the children.

With a languid stretch she turned and faced the window. As cold air streamed into the room, she smiled. The lovely red smile of the vampire.