Vi nods. “I wouldn’t deny it. I’m still new to this Nosferatu business.” She walks over to the kitchen, not bothering to slip her heels back on. Her voice recedes but you can hear her voice, until she re-emerges in the living room with two glasses of red liquid. “No, it’s not blood,” she adds, rolling her eyes, as she offers you a glass. “Just wine. Aged to perfection, two decades. From Bordeaux.” You accept the glass.
“As I said earlier, the stronger I become, the more open I’ve become about my vulnerabilities, my shortcomings and insecurities. How paradoxical. What they say about immortality – that you start to lose your zest for life – I don’t quite believe that. I feel my feelings ever more intensely, and it’s almost frustrating how I can’t hide how much I care about Tess and Hilde, or Anna, or you.”