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Passion in the Blood - A Poem

He played with his eyes closed.

His bow scraping across the strings.

Sounds of beauty and sadness filled the air.

He swayed in time with the melody.

She stopped to watch.

The sound so pure she could almost see the notes drift away.

The sounds of the subway faded.

All there was, was him.

Him and his violin.

He played.

She listened.

He played the last note.

It lingered in the air.

One last sweet sound.

Before the bustle of the underground rushed back.

He lovingly placed his violin safely in its case.

He collected his hat.

The coins that lined the bottom went into his pocket.

He picked up his belongings and walked out of the station.

She watched.

Never blinking.

She followed.

She hadn’t eaten in a few days.

And nothing is sweeter to a vampire than blood filled with passion.

He will be a good meal.

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