Oh, Marie. What have you done?
Do you really wish to hear about them, Dear Reader? Very well.
The first one was Simon Gottfried. He was a retired commercial traveler; he had a slight stoop and had lost of his hair, but was still hale enough to get back from the local Wirtshaus with only a small amount of staggering. Up close his breath smelled sloppily of elderly beer, but then I was not planning to kiss him.
I think he might have thought otherwise, though. I had mesmerized the man while he was still fumbling with the keys to his rather nice house, and I fear that I let him come to the drunken conclusion that I was some sort of harlot. I suppose that it was not the first time he had resorted to such things.
But it was undoubtedly the last. After he dazedly invited me in – was that mere courtesy on his part? Or do I need to be invited into someone’s home before I can enter? I know, but I decline to tell – it was child’s play to lead him to his bath. And, once he was stripped and running a bath it was even easier to send Gottfried into a coma, and then sink my fangs fatally into his neck.