Not An Angel

A while later, an angel came to me. A woman. A lady in white.
She spoke to me, asking me if I was afraid of dying. Her hands were gentle on my face, her long red hair, I remembered clearly. She was indescribably beautiful, flawless in features. I remember how cold her dark blue eyes were, how pale she looked. I asked if she was, indeed, an angel. She smiled and said that if that were he case, she was the angel of death.
I told her I was scared. She told me not to worry. She took my hands in hers, and squeezed them.
“Do not be afraid, darling. I’m here.”
Her ruby lips caressed my neck, and somehow, between the blurring howl of blackened death and the blood in which I lay, she changed me, ‘turned’ me--and I became trapped, soul bound to body.
And like snow, she was gone.
I sat up, bloodless, as she had made me, alone. I touched my neck and felt two, tiny holes from where she had ‘kissed’ me--and I glanced down to find, eerily enough, the blood I’d been laying in had…dried, somehow, and flaked off of the earth like rose petals, trickling in the wind. I felt sick, and weary, but I was alive--
And then I realized I was without a heartbeat.
Вампир, as she had made me.
Вампир, as I was meant to be…

Story and characters copyright to YourPleasantDarkness at DA.

This is a quick illustration that I came up with after reading the story from which I took the previous excerpt. I dunno if it's 100% accurate but this is how I saw it in my head...Plea has such a beautiful, vivid way of writing that I can always see everything so clearly. This was just once scene I though I might be able to pull off.