The mansion was surrounded by an eerie atmosphere I couldn’t wholly explain. Someone had died in the garden. His soul was trapped in the marble statue which stood at the entrance gate, and as I reached out to touch its cold cheeks it struck me hard across the face, leaving a clean bloody cut along my right side. I wasn’t afraid, I didn’t care. I couldn’t even feel the pain. I only saw the blood.

Two hundred years old that mansion must have been, if not more. It was falling apart but beautiful nonetheless. Only one window was hung with curtains, and a faint shimmer of candle light spilled through the gaps of the heavy fabric. I could see the silhouette of a man seemingly imprinted in the draperies, growing larger and smaller with every current that caused the flames of the candles to sway. His figure was continuously stimulated; he seemed to be dancing.

My hair was sticky with the blood from the wound. Ah yes, that damned wound. I nearly forgot I had it. I put my hand to my cheek to collect the dripping blood and licked it off my fingers. Savouring the metallic taste on my tongue, I was distracted by a sound. He invited me, he called to me. He wanted me in that house. Such a tormented voice was screaming my name. I heard it ever since I stepped onto that neglected property, as the branches of a hollow tree grabbed my hair and pulled me into the lifeless garden I was then standing in. But I only became aware of it in that moment, that voice. It wasn’t human or inhuman. Like laughter and weeping at once, the cry of torment and suffering and the angelic laughter of little children.

I was being led into the mansion by that tantalising melody. I stood in the entrance hall. It was cold and gloomy and most uninviting. I was freezing and my lips were blue, and again I didn’t care. I wanted to see the source of that mesmerising music. Ah! Such passion! That melody played me like a puppet on strings, leading me wherever it wanted me to go. Up the circling steps it carried me. I tripped over the fallen chandelier and a broken table, its chipped wooden leg scraping off my skin. Yet again I felt no pain. I only saw the blood.

In the corridor of the second storey the melody eased its grasp on me, and I could finally draw full breaths again. I merely stared at the open door out of which the music poured like a wild waterfall. It was the violin! The Devil’s Instrument was being played! But by whom? By the Devil himself? I could not help but push the door a slight gap more open, and I glimpsed a tall figure dancing insanely to the melody he played. The violin sounded as if it were whining, seemingly weeping over the pain of the flames of hell that were licking at her wood. But it wasn’t the Devil that played. It was a beautiful Angel of Music, with a boyish face and dark wavy hair spilling down to his shoulders. Strands of his hair were glistening and dripping with the blood sweat that was clinging to his forehead like little red diamonds. The expression in his eyes was furious! He was possessed by his music, and I couldn’t clearly see what he actually felt. The violin seemed to feel for him, talk for him.

He abruptly ceased to play, as if he had sensed my presence. He closed his eyes and as he opened them, blood tears were streaming over his white face. He looked so fragile then, so delicate and forlorn. So hurt. The violin fell to the ground with a horribly disturbing echo. I stepped back and covered my mouth with my hand, not daring to make a single sound. I could smell the dry blood on my fingers. Was my face wound still bleeding? I didn’t know.

He took graceful steps towards me and gently wrapped me in his arms. His tears were dripping onto my cheeks, leaving faint red lines behind. I was full of blood. He loosened his embrace slightly to bend down, and as he lifted me up he began to lick the blood off of my face. The feel of his tongue on my skin chilled me. He drew away slowly and whispered in a mellow voice:” The Devil’s Instrument.” Then he buried his face in my hair. Our shadow looked gruesome, like two devils entwining. His embrace became firmer with each breath I took; he was squashing me like an insect. Didn’t he see that I couldn’t breathe? Didn’t he hear my sobbing and attempts at screaming? Didn’t he feel how I was ripping at his beautiful hair?

My ribs crushed and pierced through my lungs. My spine broke as simply as a mere branch. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. My heart ceased to beat. He let me fall to the ground just like his violin.

I could hear his steps; however, I couldn’t see him. The night remained as black and cold as it had been before. The giant trees in the forest seemed to be growing with each step I took, casting frightening shadows on anything the moon spilled her silver light over. Where was he now? I couldn’t hear him anymore—his presence had vanished. I was alone.

The snow clung to my clothes, soaking them, making me shiver. I wanted to lie down and fall asleep, knowing that I wouldn’t wake up again. I wanted the snow to cover me gently, softly, stroking over my skin like icy fingertips. I would lie in the arms of the white coldness, letting it creep over me, being cradled to eternal sleep by it.

I could hear his steps again, almost carefully approaching me. I looked to the side; was that a tree or a silhouette? The sound became heavier, firmer, seemingly crushing the freshly fallen snow beneath his shoes.

He was next to me; I could feel his breath against my cheek. I didn’t dare to let my eyes stray, to look to my side. But it was inevitable that I would. His coat was covered with snow, lying like a delicate layer of dust upon his shoulders. He turned his bowed head my way and locked his gaze onto mine. Trying to close my eyes, I failed. His mesmerising glance held me captivated within his invisible grasp. A deliciously devious grin formed on his lips, I wished to kiss it away. Raising his hand slightly, he reached out for my arm and ran his fingers along the inside of it, until he reached my wrist. He closed his eyes and moaned with each breath he took, as if the pulse inside of me was keeping him alive. His amber eyes were focussed on mine again, the passion within himself burning in them like tiny red flames. I moved closer toward him, until my body was firmly against his. He grasped my hand, our fingers entwining, while with the other I twirled his dark hair around my fingers. Pushing me backwards, he flung me against the trunk of a tree. His eyes had no expression in them. “I push away things I love,” he said in a half whisper, as if the longing for me had eaten away his voice. Then couldn’t he bear to love me?

Before I could see clearly again, he had me pressed against the tree, his arms pressuring my chest. He bent down and kissed me roughly, swallowing my screams within his lust, burning them within his incredible passion. He pulled away and looked at me with wide eyes, touching his lips with his fingers. He hadn’t wanted that to happen—but he wanted to savour my taste forever.

I touched his beautiful face. Slowly, almost cautiously, I ran my fingers over his eyelids to his delicately shaped nose. My soft touch lingered on his lustrous lips. I felt a terrible desire for him…

His hands searched my body, fumbling with my tattered dress. He kissed me again, but this time more gently. I could sense his love. His fear. But what did he fear? He ran his fingers along the inside of my thigh, while with the other hand he wandered up my body, to my breasts and then, as he reached my throat, he tore off my dress completely. Going down on his knees, he pulled me down with him. He took me into his arms and cradled me, as if he wanted to keep me warm. But his touch was even colder than the snow.

His hands ran up and down my body, caressing every inch of my skin. Then he bent over me slightly and let me drop down. Even though the height wasn’t much, it pained me still to land so roughly on the cold ground. I was aching everywhere.

Spreading my legs, he laid both hands on my right thigh. He kept looking at me, deeply in my eyes, with that sincere look. It was as if he was begging me for forgiveness for what he was about to do. He was hovering over me and drew full breaths, seemingly agitated. Squeezing the skin of my inner thigh, he swiftly let his body descend upon mine and began to cry. I wanted to move then, to lift my arm and wipe away his red tears. But I could barely even breathe. I lay there like a lifeless doll. Expressionless. Dying with a smile on my lips.

He threw his head back and screamed, as though my love was a sword that stabbed him right in the middle of his heart. But he was hurting me more than I him. He was aware. Tilting his head to one side, he growled and bared his fangs. They glistened in the moonlight like pointed diamonds. He pulled my leg up violently and groaned, piercing my skin with his canine teeth. I became hysterical and struggled. He wouldn’t let my leg go. I could see the blood running down my thigh in thick streams. It felt hot against my cold skin.

He was moaning under his heavy breath, as if the liquid crimson would increase his longevity. I was screaming, gathering the snow around me in my hands and throwing it at him, in the hope of his letting me go. He didn’t even look up; he was too taken in by my blood. He tightened his firm grip on my leg, making it become numb. It seemed not to be a part of me anymore. He drew back with a swiftness that dizzied me. Standing up, he licked his lips over and over again, gathering the blood he had spilt down his chin. He looked down at me with an indescribable expression on his face. It was almost comforting.

I was shaking violently. Before my eyes closed I saw that around me there had formed a circle of red. I lay on crimson—my blood was drenching the snow as if it was cloth and I was lying on a bed of red satin.

A swoon passed over me at the immense loss of blood, and the red circle around me continued to grow. I could feel the warm wetness beneath my skin.

I was ready to die, but he wasn’t ready to lose me. This was what he had feared all along.