She smiled as she watched him circle the ceiling above her tub in preparation for a major swoop. She wore only self-confidence beneath the sliding bubbles of gory icky yuck.
Beneath his cape, the Prince wore only his death day suit. “Incoming,” he screamed, then bounced off the ceiling. Elizabeth ducked …
(“Thufferin’ Thuckatash!” Thaid Mina who was reading this same story.)
…as Vlad smashed into the stone floor, breaking into a gazillion dark beads. Each bead sprouted tiny legs and began to run up her wall. Hundreds of black widowers moved and changed like an obscene Etch-a-sketch and formed a coat of arms displaying the words ‘Bautura. Prada. Pofta!’ (Drink. Prey. Lust!)”
“Your sick display,” Elizabeth said with her back toward him. “This is what I think of it!” Like a turret, the Countess spun and aimed her felisquious huzzas at the cluster of Vlad-spiders. The room exploded! Rat-a-Tat-Tat! Vlad’s coat of arms burst into in flames.
“So you’re in the mood for ‘creepy,’ my pulsing Prince? Then let me change into something more—-ahem, more comfortable.”
Vlad’s bits of burning wreckage hit the floor as the remaining blood droplets poured off of the ascending Elizabeth’s aforementioned bodaquilacious huzza-huzzas and sumpqualisquis Wahwahzoozie and into the tub. Four bats held a corner of Elizabeth’s fluffy Gasper the Fiendly Ghost towel, thus concealing her succulesquois body from of the recovering Prince (Vlad was still trying to deal with a multitude of confusing occulisqious eye images).
With an echoloquatious ‘Tah-Dahhhhhh!” the four bats dropped Elizabeth’s towel. — She was wearing something new. A negligent! The rear of the red hourglass design neatly framed her panoramaraculous Mrar-mrar-mrar.
Vlad’s mustață (Mustache) began to flap at Elizabeth, madly, seeking her sweet nectar. The Countess seemed guarded at first. I’ve got to slow him down.
“Does it please you, Malady?” he asked.
She took charge. “Come here you adorable biscuit tickler. Down boy.” Elizabeth grabbed the tips of his mustache and gently twirled them around her damp fingers — and slowly reeled in the impudent pelt. “Gently, now. Ah! That’s a nice brush that you have Prince.”
“Mgnmnupfmmngmnomnomnom… (Translation: Thank you.)
“It makes you look so …extinguished.”
A true gent, Vlad, tipped his frontal cranial bone, releasing steam, as Elizabeth, flat on her back, stretched her six arms up and across the room and spun a web of silken signs:
1. “Do you realize the danger that you’ve gotten yourself into, darling?”
2. “Do you realize that the nibble of a văduva neagră (black widow), of which I am many times over, can cause a painful pulă rigiditate (stiffy) that may last for six hours?”
3. “Do you realize that I’ll have to eat you afterward”.
“Mwa! Minoki Hokawaki Waki!” The crumbled fiend chuckled. She had driven him mad, again, and, oh, how he reveled in it.
The countess then bared her pink ….
(Mina, who was still reading this ‘ filth’ was dialing 912!)
…venomous pulsing gums. “Nod, if you understand what I’ve written,” she asked her drooling idiot slave. (He nodded.) “Good! Weren’t you carrying a scroll, earlier?”
“Ak,” said Vlad as he pointed to a singed roll of parchment, smoking in the corner. She picked it up with a long arm and unrolled it. “Oh, dear, do you think that we can cover this entire list in only six hours? Come here, nibbles.”
At the end of ‘date night,’ Vlad and Elizabeth surrendered to their favorite recording: The Puccini Arias performed by Fratelli Lupo and The Wolf Brothers, Luciano and Mariano. Afterward, the lovers hung from the mast, wrapped in each other’s wings, beneath the sky of shimmering black holes. They slept and shuddered through daymares together as the River Styx barge slid lazily through the oily water.
It was the greatest love affair to span the ages. Credit their healthy diet, active life(?)style, regular exorcise and the addition of their natural psychopathy to keep them fit.
Of course there was also the excessive, extreme and highly experimental Mrahmrahmrah that would have wiped out most major cities.—