~.~

Deep inside an ageing, tangled forest, there sprung on a moist riverbank a rare narcissus, deep and red as a blooming rose.

Woodsmen's legends erelong spread like wildfire far and wide, for it was that the flower was deeply enchanted.

One night, a manful venerer ventured into the luring greens and sat beside the red narcissus, willing to bring it back to his beloved wife.

He looked deep into the flower's tender cup, and in it appeared the reddest wine he had ever seen. In one swift kiss, he drank it. The narcissus grew forthwith; the hunter thought himself drunk.

He saw then, bent over him, a bewitching woman clothed in all red – sucking his blood.

~.~