Ch 357: Cimexia.

A whisper enslaved in shadowed light,

Her voice feels ethereal at night.

With crimson skin that breathes like dust,

She feeds on blood, not love or lust.

Her fingers crawl beneath the soul

Of cotton sheets that lost control.

She drinks from wounds you never see—

Her kiss, a sting that sets you free.

No scream, no fight, just her gaze,

As sleep surrenders, softly ablaze.

She leaves no trace, no bite or mark,

Just an itchy feeling, lingering in the dark.