a-90-year-old death - rewrite

One lone light flickered as if the winged emperor moth searched for its mate. The barren room was cozy; the splatter of rain droplets tapped the window pane, humming a repetitive but welcomed harmony. It's warm, yet, one shivered. A figure sat on the polished wooden stool, his fingertips grazed the crochet blanket. There she lay, the beauty! Curled up like a kitten burrito, snoring softly- a faint whistle tickled her nostril hairs; he adored her for it. With a small groan, she shifted a bit. Not once did his smooth pale palm retreat, his sharp nails gently stroked the patchwork cotton. It held a dark green thread bearing brown stripes- a blanket she made for him long ago.

"My dear"

She stirred, waking from slumber. An attempt to sit up had been squashed by empathy.

"No, please, don't move it will only hurt."

A faint beeping infiltrated his eardrum, recalling why he stayed by his lover's side today. Hidden beneath the blankets, the right corner of the fabric fell to reveal the man's wife- wrinkled like a raisin, a beautiful one from his perception. She smiled wide, not one lick of a tooth sat in the throne of her maw. Why her dentures were beside her in the glass! Gingerly, the man took her skeletal hand and gave it a small, loving peck.

"Please rest. It is almost time."

"I know. I just needed to see your face before I sleep."

He rose from the stool, standing about six feet tall in all-black clothing—slacks with a tie, of course. His lips pressed between the crow's feet. The beeping was beginning to wind down. His rear moved to sit on the mattress as one young hand grasped the old one, cupping it softly.

"I love you. I will never search again."

Despite the circumstances, out of all the years, she was the one to make him express emotion. Her stringy hair, crazed in all directions settled against the pillow as ruby lips tugged corners to form a large smile.

"Oh please, how many decades have you been with a woman? I.. "

"Shh… Don't be silly. You are the only one...Just the one..."

The single sole to breathe life into him again. He smiled; a singular fang poked out of the corner lip. His eyes had grown a faint, bloody tint. Out of all the women he never once sabotaged this relationship. Why it was only ten years ago he met her at the park, before the sickness came to her. Eighty is such a young age for a dame. Or well, old for some. This vampire enjoyed the intellectual speeches, the cradle of being held by someone close to his age. As close as a human can get.

Emeralds fluttered shut, still held dear to his un-beating, comatose heart; the Queen's hand limped. He held strong as a river of crimson flowed. Never once had he bite her and never he shall. She needed to be with her family, even if that meant never seeing her again. A kiss once more on plump lips, once more.... the final time. "I love you." Temperatures finally matched.