The night was crimson, stained with that reddish hue flowing through your veins. Every step seemed coated in a thick layer of hesitation, but you pressed on, stalking your prey.

They had turned to you, as you filled their glass to the brim, asking what it was you felt of them. You did not stop pouring.
They did not let go of the glass, that rose to meet their chest in the sea of wine that continued to swallow you two whole.
You asked if they regretted following you deeper and deeper.

They didn't reply.