Fungal Halo

Venom dripping from her fangs into my eager mouth. I hunger for it, but it does not fill me; it empties me. I am devoured from the inside, and all I can do is crave more.

The more she kisses me, the more I get lost in her kisses, unable to think or notice anything else. I cry in pain when her clawed fingers pierce my flesh, but even then it only inspires me to kiss back with greater fervor.

I sit, silent and pretty, among my sisters. My Mistress is greeting some very rude guests who speak to her in raised voices. I would giggle at their foolishness if my Mistress's magic weren't perfect. If I weren't her perfect, silent doll.

Over the ages they tell my story in hushed whispers decorated with breathless warnings like lovely jewels. They say I am evil. They say I am deadly. They say that to look into my eyes is to be lost. They say I steal fair maidens and teach them sin. They say such sweet things.

An angel should have nothing to fear from the typical vampire. With a bit of concentration, her halo can flare with enough dazzling, holy brightness to instantly vaporize those who cannot survive even the mundane light of their local star.