I knew of a woman who spoke in frivolous tongue, her sexual desires led on every man she had ever found. For she killed each one by the draining of their blood into a little glass vile that eventually all its contents were placed into jugs. And a reason you might wonder as to why she makes each man suffer is because she fell in love with a woman who was actually a man. Ponderous and frustrated is how she had become after a time of distance from her lover. I could only imagine how she suffered coming home to see her sweetheart in the arms of another woman and the fact that all of her wears had been tossed aside to reveal that she was truly a he.
I knew of this woman who loved women more than she loved herself, this woman would pamper the girls she fell for-- the girls that she favored and even the girls that she just found as pure eye candy. I listened to the stories she would tell when I would join her for tea, of course at the time I was a young girl with porcelain skin and wore frilly dresses that would be given to me from her old collections. Briskets would sit on a round pedestal that had butter and slices of cheese, I remember it oh so well; the tea was never too strong for me to handle and there was always sugar available to make me hyper. Of course at her side was always a different woman-- many of different shapes and sizes but they all had one thing in common: a wicked smile and a beautiful face. I would stare and wonder "why a new woman at every tea time?" Yet now as I have become of age I realized all but one true love is never found because they dare to battle the boundaries and take one for granted.
I know of a woman who always wore red after every single murder the fact that she had the audacity to cheer at a man's death made her soul burn with envy, the woman that she loved so dearly had begged for forgiveness but all the woman could do was smile. She smiled the wickedest smile of them all, with dripping mascara and black lips she smiled the biggest smile, a smile so grand that the man began to shudder. The woman dragged the man into her basement and threw him to the floor, there he lay fragile and broken and then she screamed "LIAR!"

"I'm sorry." was all he could say.
"You knew I'd die for you!"
"I'm sorry!" he had cried in return.
"I wanted to show you all the beauty you didn't even know you could hold!"
"I couldn't do anything else!" he cowered at her feet.
"LIAR!" she kicked him in the face.
"I'm idiotic! I'm Sorry! Patience will make you see that you can still love me!" he tried to calm her.
"I want to mix our blood and put it in the ground so you can never leave." she laughed with her sickest smile of them all.
The man ran... and ran... and ran... but she knew every hidden doorway that was beneath the sole of her house, she followed him with a knife she had kept hidden in her corset.
For one to suffer a death such as he was only one of many for she could never love again. In a spoken tongue she could care less of such a loss, but only smile as the blood she collected filled itself into containers that reached her ceilings.
I knew of a woman who died when her house was embellished in blood.
I knew of a woman who drowned in the fluids of her lover and in the fluids that she killed to take her place.
I knew of a woman who cried and only wore red.
I knew of a woman who is now dead.
On summer nights of red moons she appears in her garden with her lover in chains, picking flowers to throw into the red river. But even on a night like tonight she still leads wicked men into the ocean to follow her beauty straight down the falls.