And how to exist here? The vampire cooks in a forest sauce mixed with mushrooms. 36 of burning Celsius degrees, the sun peels the skin like a red-hot iron glove.
Is this a medieval torture? No, it’s summer in my beloved town. And I, cold-blooded, snow-loving beast (true daughter of the north) and worshipper of the rusty colors of autumn, curse what the world stands on. My feline familiar does long cat and chills the belly on tiles, dog doesn’t even ask for a walk (amazing thing).
And I… I drink lemonade after lemonade and pray to all pagan gods for a storm.
The probability that the storm will come to my town, which her brothers and sisters avoid at all costs, is somewhere like… 20 percent. I still have some hope…
Even my vampiric urge to drink blood ceased, after realising that blood is actually very sticky and mineral water is much more refreshing.
Curse the sun.