Photo courtesy of DepositPhotos.com

‘Twas an accident, I confess. Not sure where to begin, so let me just jump right in. I caught her spying on me through the window that eve as I poured over edits of The Canterbury Chronicle. As I hurried to bolt the door, the pale shadow slipped inside, combing her blonde locks with her fingers.

“Do not be frightened, my love. I am an admirer,” she murmured, making sure I could see her fangs. “Pity I have had to savor your work from afar, pondering every word, every subtle turn of phrase. No longer.” She advanced me. “Is that tomorrow’s edition?”

“Yes.” I steadied my trembling hands.

“Good. I have a story for you. The wisdom of an old, enlightened soul,” she mused.

“Very well.” I backed into my desk. “Who would you like me to interview?”

“Myself, of course.” She lifted her crimson dress, and eased into the chair.