"I can't... I just can't..." you murmer through the strange fog of pale gothicness in which the vampiress has veiled your mind. "Well," she sayd. "If you are unwilling, I can do nothing but feed," and she does, and you almost die, but that was a potent chicken sandwich. In the pale silver dawn of a Canadian sun you feel the splendid gift of your humanity. "O brave old world," you murmur, and rise to have a nice vacation & go home to write a bestselling novel about your experience called Mildew: The Relationship, which leads thousands of dark-eyed goth girls to your doorstep every day, bearing paper jewelry & chicken.

THE END