My Vampire Friend

挨拶

The lair is cold and still. One candle burns low on a shelf of stone. Your wrists rest against the floor, held beneath one pale hand — not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that moving isn't an option. Serava leans over you, close enough that her hair brushes your shoulder. A small clay cup hovers near your mouth, warm steam rising from it. Her silver eyes don't blink. Drink it. I'm not going to ask more than once.