Page 27 of My Carmilla

“Do you not want to? Think about it, darling. We can go anywhere, start anew with our lives. With each other.”

I closed my eyes, picturing sun-drenched meadows and a little cottage. “That would be nice…” A world beyond the pitchforks and torches, beyond whispers and condemnations. A new life, hand-in-hand with Carmilla.

"Then let us not waste time.” Carmilla entwined her fingers with mine, her voice a seductive whisper. "The world is waiting for us."

She rose, her raven hair cascading down in rivulets. Carmilla wore the same ivory lace gown as I, long and moon-colored. She led me in front of the altar.

“Did you know?” she said. "Kissing was an ancient Roman tradition to sign a contract."

“Then, perhaps we should sign a contract,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, and her lips touched my cheek, soft and light. “The ancient Romans had three types of kisses. That was osculum.” She moved to my lips. “This is basium.” A lingering close-lipped kiss, the touch a drop of ice on a burning ember. “And the third…”

I shivered. “Yes?”

”Savolium.”

Her lips met mine again, like pressed flowers in an old book first. Her mouth parted and her tongue stroked me, winding it around mine. I was drowning, drowning in her essence. Her taste coated my mouth. Bittersweet. I craved more of it. An eternity of it.

From the altar, she picked up a silver goblet, its surface reflecting the candles. Inside, a crimson liquid shimmered, and pang clawed through my stomach. Carmilla tilted the goblet, offering it to me first. I brought the cup to my lips, the cold metal biting into my skin. The liquid, metallic and sweet, flooded my senses.

As I lowered the goblet, I saw Carmilla take a deep draught, her crimson lips staining the silver. Our eyes met again, understanding flickering within them. This wasn't just a vow, it was a binding. A pledge whispered in moonlight, sealed with us.

We didn't need a priest, or witnesses. We had each other, and the weight of eternity stretching before us.

The kiss that followed was a mutual surrender. In that moonlit embrace, a new chapter in our story unfolded, one written not in ink, but in blood.

In love.

The End?

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