Like Scarlet Velvet

The thick stench of rot and garbage filled the London air, burning the young woman’s nostrils as she ran down the dark and deserted alleyway. Her dress, made of the finest scarlet velvet, rustled about her ankles lifted only enough to allow her feet to flee.

Her breath caught in her throat, eyes wide as she ran head first into her pursuer. She had not the chance to scream.

Fangs glistened in the moonlight and in an instant sank into her soft, delicate skin. The blood rushed freely from her neck, mingling perfectly with the color of her elegant gown.