Twisted images surface from some murky unseen depth
that reeks of congealed blood. It's a foul stench, this here
playroom for the damned. Decay reigns in this place, where
no light penetrates, casting its shadow.

Its where they reside, those children of the night who seek
out their prey in unsuspecting dreams. He is the master of
his skill, and she is his mistress of nightmares. They fancy
those long dark nights, where bloodplay incites heated
passions that move these lovers.

An artist he is, perfecting is game as they haunt the streets,
hand in hand. She likes the way the blood tastes upon his
lips, as they share a kiss just after play. An adoring fan, for
eternity, as their souls entwine like mist rolling.