10 December 2012
Turned when she was seven, She knew naught but death and bones, Brought up by nothing but the road, A road of gravelled stones.
Childish in appearance, Yet reeked of blood and gore, Luring in with toothy grins, Feeding, then some more.
A nightmare in her own right, The vampire child of myth, Something yet unrivalled then, And to be reckoned with.
So, if you see the little shape, Moving through the mist, A tiny child, you think you'll help, She may be vampire kissed.
Vampire Child. • Opuss № I