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Red
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If anyone asked him what color he hated the most, he'd answer "red" without hesitation. Truth was, though, he never thought he'd hate the color. It was the color of the sunset and sunrise he so craved to see again. The hue in the kissable lips of his lovers. The blood that filled his cock as he moaned in pleasure.

Red was the color of blood.

As a vampire, he should love red; embracing it, taking it deep within his body. Because it was. It was the fuel that kept him going, his life source. Even when he was deep in guilt over the lives he'd taken, images of his victims flashed before his eyes in a various shades of red depending on how long the tortures had gone on, he didn't hate it. He regretted his actions, but never did his emotions stray to the blood. The hatred and regret and pain and worthlessness were all aimed at himself.

But now, he hated the fucking color. It mocked him as he pressed his hands uselessly over the gaping hole in his lover's chest, the wound's silent laughter stung his ears -- is it possible to hear red? It taunted him as it seeped into his shirt, flowed over his lover's duster, gathered underneath his nails. So much red until it blinded his sight.

So yeah, if anyone fucking asked him what color he hated the most, he'd say...

Gray.

Gray like the ashes settled over him.

~ END ~