A glass of deep red wine shimmered in the moonlight of a dark mansion.
Alucard swilled the glass slowly, with a faint smile. He watched the thick liquid cling to the sides before flowing back to the centre, creating small ripples through the wine.
Of course, this wasn't regular wine, no.
The vintage came from an old bloodletting ritual from the southern continent. Thirteen virgins who had just come of age, slowly squeezed, crushed underfoot like grapes. Aged over twenty years with a delicate, sharp and sweet metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.
Alucard rocked in his chair, with an arm resting against the chair's arm. The chair squeaked, with each movement as its polished mahogany shimmering in the light.
He hadn't spoken in half an hour.
Mikaela stood by the far window, arms folded, watching the snowfall begin outside. Her tail twitched once, the only sign she was growing impatient.
