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The beautiful voice of the young goth singer on stage enthralled him. As his stare undressed her from all the leather and lace, her movements made him remember all the other lovers: men and women, young and older, smart and dumb, nice and cruel, all of them with at least three things in common.

First was the art. The inspiration or passion that they possessed; the way they were able to transform mundane perceptions into a form of awe; the power of creation itself, proudly challenging gods and churches; the bliss of expression and the angst of its limits.

The performance was over and the band members left the scene. The singer met with a young guy that was waiting for her among the audience and they kissed affectionately. He watched them from the distance and his mind formed an image of them making love, the singer both in pain and pleasure, the guy happy and feeling good and safe with her. That guy had been her first time just a few months ago and they were still in love.

Second was the fact that they all had slept with him the very first night he met them.

He liked virgins better. They remembered him of those long gone days of innocence, when he dreamed with romantic love and gentle relationships with a soul mate or something corny as that. But it didn’t matter if he had arrived late this time, at least he would take revenge for haven’t been her first.

He stood beside the young couple as the gothic rave continued around them, some other band already performing on the scene. The guy turned around first and felt the urge to get out of there as fast as possible, but it was too late. Then the singer met his eyes and felt the urge to be taken right there by him, her knees weakened and a thin layer of cold sweat covered her body.
“Go away or I’ll--” mumbled the guy, but then the stranger and his girlfriend kissed in front of him; a deep, passionate kiss that lasted forever.
The guy tried to react, but the fear and the humiliation were too big and too unexpected. He watched them leave and ten realized that he wouldn’t be able even to describe the guy that had taken his girl away from him.

And they made love for several days and nights, as they exchanged words about art, inspiration, passion, creation, experience, life, death, eternity, divinity and many other related and unrelated things.
After a couple of weeks, just making love and talking, the girl showed the traces of terminal starvation and depletion. Then he put her frail, thin body on his chest, caressing her hair as he closed his eyes. Her art used her voice, so he asked her to sing for him and so she did. It was her best and most sad performance ever, heard by one single person and diminishing in volume as the song reached its end.
The girl closed her eyes and when the song reached its end she didn’t moved anymore.

Third was the feeding. He feed from them and in the end he’d give back some of that essence to the artist for a last performance or art work; a last masterpiece that if material would be destroyed by him upon its completion, ensuring that only him would retain it forever in his memory.

He dressed himself and the girl's remains, embraced and kissed the corpse one last time, and went out to look for his next artist.