Shinji choked the handle and whammied the door onto the rose bed. The wind of the impact frightened the petals off of their stems, and a flurry of red foliage blossomed furiously out around him. Yukiko grabbed his belt buckle.
"Red is the color of blood, is the color of lineage, is the color of my lips," she said coyly, undulating her jaw. Shinji let himself fall backwards on the door, and waited as the last petal perched itself on the tip of his nose. His face became red with fervor. She thrusted a straw into his belly button, held her breath, and started sucking.

This is the story of how I've come to my present pallor. I've not always been this sickly.

Please remember me...