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Regina and Drey as vampires. On a whim.

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Drey wants to say what have I done. She wants to hold her, but Regina won’t let her. The change has brought out the strawberry of her hair; her lips are no longer the pink of pearls but deathly white. She is ruddy yet pale at the same time. And she is hungry.

The silk of her dresses fascinate her. She fingers them with a delicate appreciation she never had before. Her heart isn’t beating, but she finds herself with a stronger, more acute, longing. Drey brushes back the luster into her hair; her fingers are longer than Regina remembers, and she kisses them with fervor – a forwardness that causes Drey to mourn and love at the same time.

Yet she distances herself. She spends hours in front of the mirror, aghast at her reflection. There is no need for petty cosmetics. The change has focused on her brilliant eyes, her cupid mouth, the sharpness of her cheekbones. She chooses diamonds that reflect the coldness she wants to inhabit, and she does not remember the idea of a husband.

She hunts with a stalker’s precision. Specific and deliberate. Women with soft arms, women who smell like cigarette smoke and honeysuckles. They taste like promises, like wedding bouquets and disillusions. There is blood, hot and tempting, on her fingers, underneath her nails. The blood that Drey removes with her mouth, and Regina allows with a quiet fascination.