Title: Knorg’s Vampire Tarot

Category: Paranormal
Author Pen name : Knorg
Email: paxgronk@hotmail.com
Description: These card stories use a variety of well-known and popular as well as more obscure characters, from Marge Simpson to Elvis, from Bloodrayne to Jon Arbuckle, as well as my own characters. Each story is around 1000 words.

Stories: Death/Rebirth by Vampire, catfight, sex, girl-on-girl, and similar.

Song lyrics used without permission.

Characters/places/trademarks that aren’t mine are used for this parody without permission.

This story concept is a parody of Fifteen Painted Cards from a Vampire Tarot by Neil Gaiman.

XIII. Death

Death cast a shadow even in the predawn light. While she was everywhere that life was - or until very recently had been - she was also in a sense entering an old rundown building at that time. It was due for demolition as part of London’s Olympics regeneration and so faced a death in its own way. She followed footprints through the dust, down into the basement. They led across the floor to a trapdoor, which let down into the eternally damp tombs below. The damp recalled the marshes that had once held full sway where now this borough of the city stood.

There was no electricity down there, but candles burned fiercely and in great number. They were thick, white candles, the type seen most often in churches. The light reflected on Death’s ankh pendant, and illuminated her faint smile. Death recalled the small church once built above the tombs, and lost in London’s blitz. The tombs themselves were originally roman, built far outside the city’s walls. Death also recalled the long dust resident of each, having met all at least twice. A small wooden table held a wooden tankard of beer, left there for her. Death lifted it to her lips and drank. It was good beer, and after all Britannia was not known for her wines.

The candles were clustered thickest around a bed. Ancient magic kept the fine silks and stuffing dry, and had done so since the owner took up residence in this damp place. Death stood back a moment, too early yet. In the sheets the great lady Britannia lay with her pale legs spread and her knees raised. The ruddy tan of her enthusiastic lover was stark contrast. Britannia’s nails scored deep gashes in her lover as they rutted, and his grunts mixed with her moans.

“Give it to me! Give me your life and worship!,” pleaded old Britannia, as her pleasure added a high pitch to her voice.

“Cuoooaaghhh…” managed the man, as he stiffened, and gave his seed to her womb.

Britannia’s fangs extended then, and Death watched as she latched onto the man’s neck. He relaxed in her arms as she fed. A trickle of blood mixed with the sweat on his neck, but the bite was clean and Britannia wasted little. Britannia’s groan bubbled the blood as she bit deeper, draining the life’s blood from him, until he lay utterly still in her arms. Death stepped forward then.

“George, could I have a moment of your time?”

The man twisted, or appeared to twist, and suddenly his shade sat up from his body. He was glowing, and his shade’s eyes were a milky white.

“That… that was the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. She called to me and I came and it was all she promised…”

Death smiled. She’d heard similar statements from hundreds before, men and women. Britannia drew all to her cold white breasts. George had been suicidal, broken in business, beaten down in life. Britannia never took anyone who had any use left for his or her old life. The old lady of the isles sat up, bone white hair falling around her shoulders. George’s physical body remained in her arms. She was well proportioned, and looked to be in her late thirties – George’s body appeared older than her.

“Good evening to you, Lady. I welcome you again into my boudoir… when next we meet it will be elsewhere. I’ll set up my bed on the other side of the city perhaps; You know I’ve never lived within the old walls. London is servant to me, also.”

Death put aside the drained tankard, and replied,

“Greetings to you also Britannia. I know that wherever you move too, I’ll be able to find you. As for the games, they’re always such fun. Even when people lose they’re happy. Everyone’s out there doing the best they can.”

“So… are you… I’m dead?” George asked,

“Temporarily,” replied Death, “it’s really a change of state; a new direction in your life. You won’t come with me across the dark river until you tire of your service to Britannia. That’s the deal you make with her. I have to come along though.”

Britannia stroked her fingers down George’s arm, and he felt a deep pull. His shade folded back into his body, and his eyelids fluttered open. He raised his head shakily, and she kissed him. It was a slow, sensuous kiss. She tasted echoes of his old life on his tongue, though the memories dissipated as his life began anew. He looked younger, fitter and healthier than he had in a decade.

“Fare you well, Lady.” Britannia nodded, breaking the kiss as Death turned to leave.

Death nodded back, and left. Sometimes people – even people like Britannia – grew nervous when she commented on their future health. She was Death, after all. She continued with her work, for there was always work to do.

Meanwhile, Britannia rolled George onto his back and kissed sensuously down his stomach, until she took him into her mouth. He gripped the bed sheets tightly as she worked on him, and bit his lip. A thin trickle of blood stained his mouth as unfamiliar fangs sprouted. In a moment she on top of him, kissing the blood from his face, and he was in her again. She rode him hungrily, drawing him fully into her and then lifting until he was almost loose. He gripped her body as he returned her fierce, bloody kisses. Britannia’s passion spread out from them, across the land, and love and joy was renewed throughout the isles named for her.

Their climax was almost simultaneous, powerful pleasure that shook the ground and sent birds above into the air. Beneath the streets rutted the beast with two backs, and cried forth Rule Britannia.