We'll be Late for the Opera FINAL

Here they are all colored...

"Jessalyn woke with a start.  A cold breeze invaded her bedroom.  The door to the balcony swung languidly on its hinges.  She pushed the covers off her and made her way to close it.  Her nightdress was sensible and warm enough for these early spring nights, generally, but the chill of the night air seemed to cut right through it and she shivered against its touch.

“May I come in?” a soft baritone asked.  Jessalyn’s hand, poised to push the balcony door closed, froze in place at the sound.  The source of the voice was a man, standing on the balcony, leaning back against the railing slightly.  His dress was impeccable, from the handsome, crisp creases on his suit coat seams to the stark white of his shirt, to the deliberate carelessness of the way his gloves were tucked into his belt.  He was also handsome, with dark, piercing eyes that held Jessalyn’s with ease.

“Yes.” She heard herself say.  Incredulity clashed with the strange, sudden stupor that filled her mind.  Her hand drew up the neckline of her dress modestly, but she stepped back and away from the door to permit a perfect stranger to enter her bedroom in the middle of the night.  Her pulse began to pound as she watched him.  Her feet conspired with him, and drew her after, until they were near her bed.  She gulped as he took her hand and drew her nearer to him.

She wanted to pull away, to revoke her invitation, to deny him this improper closeness he was drawing her into, but she found herself powerless to do so.  She only wrapped herself around him and he pulled her closer, welcoming his lips to her neck.

The bite was swift, unexpected and inevitable.  The initial pain and shock receded quickly to unspeakable ecstasy, and her screams were dissolved in breathless paroxysm, followed by the descending curtain of unconsciousness.

“We’re going to be late,” Mirella complained, looking at her watch as she descended to the balcony.

Radomir lay Jessalyn carefully on the bed, “We’ll make the opera, my dear, and I was hungry.”

“So was I,” she retorted, “but I had the sense to eat before we left.  I will not forgive you if we miss the overture.”

From the Coloring book: Madam Mezmerelda's Digest of the Mad, the Mystic, and the Macabre  www.etsy.com/listing/463630217…
Concept and illustration by Bobbie Berendson W
Story bit written by Steve Wilcox