She wants me to help train these children. Teach them which end bites. It’s killing me not to drain them, and to remember when I did, without thinking, without remorse.
It’s torture to hunt them and pause, fangs inches from their neck, the smell of their fear coating my mouth like honey.
And it’s scaring me. She knows how fast I can do it. She’d never reach me.
But she just stands and watches, smiling.
She trusts me, and it’s like a muzzle and a leash all in one.
And a lifeline.
Am I being trained too?
Did I pass?
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