Blood Harvest [antikvár]

7th of September, 1772 She said her name was Claudine and that she had turned fifteen last month. Oh dear sweet God, the beauty of this young girl! That body! Those long, gracefiil limbs! Her breasts, white and pure like breaJrfast cream. The aroma of her skin, so damp and pungent. I sit for hours watching her sleep, her thick, dark curls draped over my pillow. I begin to think that if only this world, angry and cruel with its frivolous wars, could be as blessed as I am tonight! I look out the window. The night sky is turning to pewter. It is almost time. I hear the sound of my toenails scraping against the cool tile as I walk out onto the patio. I lean against the balcony and look out over the hilli. The shadows of my beloved vineyards, with their fruit hanging down from them like ripe ovaries, are beginning to take shape in the early light. The vines and I have always been entwined together, as if the same blood flowed through our veins. How peaceful it is out here. I wait until I can see the sun rising over the slopes. It is now time. Inside, my beautiful Claudine is still asleep, those luscious lips slightly apart. How lovely you are! I hope you are dreaming of me my pretty one. I sit down beside her on the bed. My fingers stroke her neck, lingering on the pulse under her chin, its melodic throbbing making me hard and wet. Lovely, lovely Claudine, I'm afraid it is now time. I reach into the drawer of the night table and take out the nail and mallet I keep next to the scalpel. 3