She moves down the path
Sure but careful
Pausing to drink from the stream
Lapping greedily as if it never fully quenches her thirst

And as the doe eyed creature makes its way into the clearing
Unsure but terribly trusting
She flashes her fangs at it
The fawn rears its legs and freezes before fleeing
Understanding she’s as old as the forest itself

She hastily retreats back through the trees
Embarrassed at her showing of animalistic urges
To her castle

Where a young traveler seeks employment in the fields
And the grapes hang plump, expectantly on their vines
Like lilac blossoms waiting to be harvested at their peak

Which she will come to realize the traveler smells like,
Among other more carnal pleasures

The harvest would be crushed tomorrow
The juice extracted, flowing, red
Until all that remains is a purple hull

She leaves only the skin of the fruit
To be discarded