The Vampire Narcise

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He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She was so beautiful, with her sparkling amethyst-sapphire eyes and swirl of dark hair. Her skin, so pure and perfect, alabaster and rose. Her neck, graceful and slender; her curves, so lush and feminine.

And her gowns…he envied her the gowns, too. The slide of silk that would be so blissfully erotic over one’s skin. The brush of fox and mink trimmings, sensual against the belly or cheek, the gentle tug of a train catching along the cobbled stones beneath her slippered feet.

The laces and brocades, the gemstones sewn into the fabric of layer upon layer of skirts, the embroidery and ribbons. The weight of the clothing—it would make one feel like a doll, like a jewel to be coveted. A gift to be unwrapped—like the little nesting blocks he used to play with—from the heavy, beaded and bejeweled overskirts, to the frothy and light chemise and layers of underskirts, to the whale-boned lacings that turned her torso into such a curved, lovely package. What would it feel like to be trussed up so enticingly?

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