The evening sun is just barely sinking past the horizon as I step out from my mansion to take a stroll through the village, or perhaps I should call it my village. Yes, dear reader, I consider this village to be mine. About two hundred years ago, it was ruled by some ruthless mongrel of a lord. When I arrived, he had me captured and brought to his chambers. It was not an encounter he survived for long as I easily drained his blood in a victorious feast.
With the lord such disposed, I took over the mansion. Sure, it took the populace a decade or three to get used to this, but as I protected them from bandits and wandering hordes of monsters, they eventually got quite used to my presence. It also helped that I ask no taxes, but a steady stream of visitors to my mansion who lets me partake in some of their blood. But of course not, dearest reader. I do not drain those who come and pay me tribute. I just have a hearty drink from each of them, and I have been assured that this goes along with quite pleasant sensations as well. With four visitors a day, I am quite satisfied. Of course, I have certain favorites as far as taste is concerned.
For example, the daughter of the baker, who is just standing underneath a tree and chatting with some handsome boy, as I pass by with a casual wave, is one of them. Her yet virginal blood is quite the sweet delicacy for me and I am always rather pleased when she drops by.
Right now, however, I am not out and looking for a drink. I am simply taking a walk. Perhaps some idle conversation with one of my subjects will also be in order. We shall see.
As I wander along the main street, I am soon accosted by Jonathan, the miller's apprentice, who, for some dubious reason, has seemed rather smitten with my overly youthful form ever since I partook in his blood, the taste of which I did not overly enjoy.