The Blackest Heart

Touching her drew blissful moans; you had worn silks and satins, but the most exquisite materials couldn't compare to her skin. The fragrance of her hair dizzied you; no perfume could ever be sweeter. Her lips - oh, her lips! Red and plump like sun-ripened cherries, their kisses made you believe in god - how else could such perfections be created?
Red was what she wore when she conducted rituals as heinous as she was lovely. For eternal beauty, she drank blood of the innocent. In all her luminescence, her heart was as black as the deepest night. My heart... was hers.