The Night Beckons

“Ha. Then perhaps I could feed on you,” says Vi wearily. When you remain silent, she begins to backtrack. “It was a joke. I can’t do that.”

But you have other ideas. “You don’t see anyone else around here, do you?” you challenge. “I might not know much about the feeding habits of vampires, but I do know that you’re going to grow weaker by the second if you don’t feed right here, right now.”

Vi is hesitant, but she finally nods after several prolonged seconds of hesitation. “Fine. Follow me.” She manages to take a few steps, but slumps against the wall and slides down to sit in exhaustion in her home’s corridor. She gazes up at you, her red eyes shining. “If this is what you decide freely, help yourself to any of the knives in my kitchen.”

You hurry to the kitchen, resolved to help the Countess. Biting your lip, you grab a vegetable knife and cut a thin line across your palm, wincing as the open wound begins to seep blood. You scramble back to Vi, who’s still slumped by the wall. You urge her to open her palm, and she looks away, flustered.

“This is embarrassing,” she mutters, before opening her mouth wide and waiting for your blood to fall from your open hand. Droplets of life fall onto her waiting tongue, sometimes missing and splashing her pale cheek, but when their aim is true, Vi moans slightly, quivering in pleasure. You notice her toes curl as she visibly regains her strength and colour. When she gets up, her eyes are tender.

“Few mortals would think of helping a struggling Nosferatu,” she whispers, reaching up and running the back of her fingers along your face. “Thank you for being here.”