A strange moaning could be heard.
Her brow knitted with a frown.
She tiptoed through the vast, empty kitchen, feeling oh so small.
"
Ohhhh... yesssss... yesssss... MOMMY!" a familiar woman's voice tried to whisper, only for the woman well-known to her to end up shouting in ecstasy instead of her attempts at being quiet.
In the center of the kitchen, encircled by shadows growing and trembling into a crowd of silent haters, her lips trembled, a fang biting into the lower lip nervously. And as she passed out of the silver light, which filled the hollow space oh so dimly, her mouth tilted upside down. She could already figure where this was going. She didn't want to know.
Or at least, that was she told herself.
But she continued walking toward the upper bedroom-
"We need to finish before she gets h-OH YEAH! RIGHT THERE! GET YOUR STRAP R-mmmmm..."
"Oh? You like that~ Have some more, you kinky slut."
-even as her bile rose in her mouth.
She let the bile dribble out of her mouth, wanting to get rid of the bitter taste...
But the pain in her heart hurt too much to even make the effort to spit. How absurd.
The absurdly wide staircase stretched all the way to the top, its open design beckoning her up.
Every step of the stairs a new memory. Of presenting a flying fox, nervous and sheepish, to the faceless wife. Of shock when she was hugged back by her love, all expression scratched off with knives. Of tears as she felt safe and
whole after so long.
So long...
This staircase is just so
painfully long. So... she stifles a sob, terrified they would hear her. In the middle of the stairs, diamonds are added to the lapels of her suit under the direct light of the callously curious moon. She heaves, snot pouring out of her nose, vision swimming.
Her foot slides back a little.
Crimson eyes, blurred and blinded, widen. She wildly waves her arms to swing herself forward. Hunched over like a cat, her claws scrape against the obsidian floors.
She hurries out of the light of the invasive outside, her passionate hate of the mocking surroundings that whisper and taunt every second returning so easily. She thought she had worked past that. Past that with...
Oh.
With her most perfect, and loving, and amazing... wife.
She fled upstairs, cloak billowing. Now heedless of noise. She was trying to escape in the wrong direction.
She had to go towards her place of safety, with all of her blankets and pillows and stuffed animals. No one would be able to get to her there. She would be safe there, untouched by a hateful world and a hateful wife. Nobody couldn't sully her bed.
She wrenched open the door, crouching and leaping toward the bed. Toward
safety.
A rubber dong smacked the bridge of her nose as she flew midair towards the isolated protection of a circle of stuffed animals and beaniebags.
Her wife, assuredly of solid character and a heart of gold, climaxed over her sheets and some random woman.
Oh right.
She let her wife into her bedroom. She trusted the love of her life with everything after all.
Rows and rows of black fangs salt the blackish-red insides of a woman's throat with the glistening diamonds streaming down the broken vampire's face. A curtain must be open in the bedroom.
There is no shouting.
Fat
squeals as inhuman fingers grab two blobs and compress them until they give up their gummy squeaking and ooze through the gaps.
No screams of terror.
A small woman scratches at her clawed feet. The intestines were hooked on her toes, unspooling out of the waist of a stranger. Fecal matter flops out all over the stuffed animals.
Only hysterical sobbing from only one person.
Ribs are now cracking apart like glowsticks after the barbaric mauling of the chest. Tiny hands are snapping the surprisingly thin bones in half.
And from bone crunching.
A throat bulges with liquid rushing down it; sating thirst.
And one cannot forget the sounds of the baptismal sprays of blood hosing the walls. Sounds like sunny summer at the bright poolside, with a slip 'n' slide on the side.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Rushing water.
The faucet is running.
"It won't come off," she says drily.
She keeps scrubbing.
A light frown crawls across her face. She puts more work into it, really putting some elbow grease into rubbing the stains off of her hands.
Her arms move back and forth, washing off her hands as thoroughly as she can.
She looks at the mirror, unable to see anything.
But she knows it's there. The stains of her beloved soulmate.
She'll get them off her face soon enough.
She raises her two clean stubs, and sticks her cheeks in an awkward position under the bottle attached to her faucet.
Whistling, she starts scrubbing away at her jaw. Blood still spurts out of her half-disintegrated wrists. Sharp fragments of the ulna and radius cut into her cheekbones.
After some hard effort, her face finally starts sloughing off into the sink too, black fangs rattling in the porcelain and scarlet facial muscle meatily slapping over the drain.
The bottle emptied.
Socketless, with elbows and nothing less, she fumbles another bottle. Twisting and twisting, screwing it on over and over. Her lower face half-melted, a hairless frown within the flesh slurry, she tries to bite her tongue in concentration. She only found an ulcer-ridden nub, but she at least managed to get the new bottle.
She resumes scrubbing.
Her whistling resumes. The whistling of her lungs sending air to and from two nasal slits.
Gold writing gleams dimly in the dusty bathroom lights.
At least she can get someone else to finish it. 
