She smirks, although these days it seems to be a force of habit rather than an intentional sneer. “Thank you. No matter if I’m being a smart-arse, or if I’m about to break into sniffles, you always seem to have a comforting answer to everything.”
You and the Countess sip your wine together, the fireplace the only noise in the background. The relaxing ambience is broken by a sudden hacking from the Countess. Vi visibly suffers from consuming non-blood nourishment, wheezing and coughing. Worryingly, she spits out some blood, and it dribbles down her chin.
“Are you alright?” you demand in concern.
“Yes,” hisses Vi, trying to tame her choking. “Ah… it seems I really can’t relive my old days as a human. My throat can’t tolerate the wine,” she moans, and for the first time, she sounds sad.