I come back at 7. Looking up at the decrepit door. Meriah only employs adults. Still I worry. I open it with my key, stepping inside.

A young man sits on the singular bed, his fingers smoothing the sheets nervously.

"I wouldn't touch that," I whispered.

He jumps standing. He's a pale boy, not much into adulthood. I'll guess...21, 22?

They say you're a man at that age. But having lived as long as I have, know that you truly are not.

"Sir," he whispers, looking at the ground. He's so pale. Does he get sun? Does he have what I need?

I put my hand under his chin, lifting it. "Dispense with the formalities. I'm Alastair. Meriah told you, what I do here, didn't she?"

He nods frantically.

"And you're fine with that? Not just desperate for coin?" I ask again, keeping his eyes on mine.

He nods again. He reminds me of a white rabbit. Even to the twitch of his nose. It's almost cute.

"Then I'll partake now," I pull him in, bending his neck ever so slightly.

Drinking from willing subjects may be a bit boring but it is the most satisfying. There are many with the affliction. Those who enjoy playing with blood. I find it more satisfying, less guilt ridden, to pay them for an honest nights work.

I plunge my fangs into his delicate throat. Whenever my I thirst, and my fangs finally find reprieve in a throat, my mind flickers to her.

My sweet cupcake. I want to taste her more than I want to die.

I imagine the sounds she would make, as I devour her soul, inhale her life from her. Would she moan, like this boy?

Whimper perhaps?

That soft voice. Her fingers scratching at me, desperate for reprieve. I would give it, only to devour her body instead.

She's done nothing to invite these thoughts, save be kind to me. I flirt with the guilt of that, as I unintentionally drain this boy.

Only as his fingers fall limp, so I let him fall of my fangs, collapse to the floor.

He'll live. I pick him up, settling him down on the sheets. A pretty boy he is. Not like her though.

My version of beauty has shifted in favor of her. Where I once sought pale skin, and blue eyes, at the sight of her, I yearn for that brown sun kissed skin.

Endless eyes, dark brown almost black, reminds me of the night.

I somehow...avoid them though. There are a few women who look her at Meriah's. I can't bring myself to...even imagine tainting her so.

It's all I want. But to lay down with them almost seems blasphemous. So I hold back.

I leave the room. Blood fills me with euphoria. My nipples harden under my dark shirt, my hardness stirring to life, and even more I am blinded by thoughts of her.

I find myself in front of her shop. She closed at 8.

I open it, my mind in a fog. If I could get my fix, see her, I'll go home, satisfied.

I must not eat the cupcake. Merely look at it. Smell it. That's all.

Her eyes are closed when I come in. She must be tired. Eleanor...she's right in front of me.

Look don't touch.

Don't bite.

Don't...devour.

I reach out, gently poking her. "Asleep on the job?"

She opens her eyes. "At least I have one sir. What is your job, that you're here spending money twice in one day."

"Well I haven't bought anything yet. And being rich is my job."

Her lips tug up, as she settles her glasses onto her face. "And such a labor intensive job it is!"

"Yes...quite, I'm so fatigued in fact, that I might pass away right now!"

She chuckles, and I smile with her. She stands, looking over at the mountain of books that need putting away.

"Late night?" I remark.

She nods. "There's only so much time before the wedding after all—"

I hear white noise, cutting off the rest of her words. Wedding? A friends perhaps?

"Wedding?"

Eleanor grins, extending her hand. "You thought I'd be a spinster because I'm poor and have the audacity to like books, didn't you? I don't fault you, so did I?"

I force a cordial chuckle. Marriage. My Elenor? Married? To someone else?

To someone...to...

"So then...you'll be married?" I repeat.

She nods gently. "That's what this ring means. Alastair, I know you were counting on marrying me, but I must decline," she jokes.

I swallow. "Do you love him?"

She goes quiet. "Well...love is such a...fickle thing. To marry for something as unreliable as that only works," she gestures around, "between these pages."

She smiled sadly. "I don't know if you've noticed but...you're one of my only customers, Alastair. If this place shuts down, only two places will hire me."

I look up at her, as she stared ruefully at a corner across the street.

"I'll be a wife...or a whore. Those are the two professions I can manage in this city."