>>150815078
>Grimal with hickeys
>tfw you'll never be some extremely unfortunate Toreador fledgling hiding in shithole England because your Sire has lots of enemies and you're a perfect way to mess with her, and, therefore, need to keep a low profile
>you'll never, out of fall in standards and mild hungy desperation, go from wooing models in London clubs to macking out with some very inebriated, blue-haired anime superfan in a pub in literal nowhere, Great Yarmouth
>you'll never somehow flip-flop from being the one to oh-so-suavely pinning her against a wall in some seedy alleyway, to getting practically assaulted by five feet three inches (if she's got a hat on) of sexual and romantic desperation that craves human contact and only has a a fairly enthusiastic corpse to work with
>you'll never burn through more blood than you hoped to drink from her just to maintain Blush of Life for as long as you can, all because this is the first time in your fairly brief unlife that you get the same rush of want that you felt while alive
>you'll never fall in a really weird rhythm where she actively doesn't question why her 'boyfriend' is nocturnal and is kind of cold to cuddle against, and you, on top of slowly becoming very comfortable with the boyfriend angle, don't question how is it that she so quickly heals from the hickeys you abudantly leave on her neck, how she's got the stamina to ride you raw every evening, especially when shitfaced, and why is it that whenever she's the one biting into your neck, you feel like she's trying to tear your jugular out
>you'll never find your own, damn firm and honed beauty standards adjust to where Grimal's the peak of them, no matter what she's got on - some dumb cosplay, a maid outfit, baggy sweatpanst and a shirt, both of which she stole from you, as if it's not kind of graverobbing
Why live...