LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE
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The image>>
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A man. Tall. Pale. Immovable. His fangs gleamed in the dim light, brushing the delicate skin of the woman’s neck. Her head tilted back, throat exposed, and yet she wasn’t dead—weak, trembling, fragile, but still holding a knife in her hand. Crimson glistened across the blade. She gripped it with effort, her knuckles white, as though she were trying to protect herself from something the world could never understand.
Her vision tunneled more, the figures on the canvas becoming alive in her vision, the predator’s teeth sharpening against the curve of the woman’s throat, the woman’s hand shaking on the knife handle