Haunted by the absence, consumed by the thirst that makes them dry, their patience put in rags, they're wandering, lips hurt by some exquisite and inviolable memories. What a beautiful torture that the one of time, cold and pitiless, sad and unstoppable, moving the needles of the clock with a martial rythm. Tic tac tic tac, no half-measure, no setback, a perfect and icy tempo, tearing appart, tearing guts, and which contemplation brings inevitably to lose ourselves. The feeling of her ribs, prisoner between his phalanxes, the depth of their bitting kisses, the hot contact of their claws printing the skin, their joined hands under the moonlight, these shared words, the taste of their fangs slipping on neck... A wild passion, uncontrollable, placed in a case of vampiric softness...