“Good morning,” Evelyn said. “Aie!”
Clara turned around quicker than a photoflash powder took to ignite. There was Evelyn with her fangs extended and a drop of crimson on her lips.
“Why are you bleeding?” Clara asked.
“Aucune idée,” Evelyn replied in French without realising. (I have no idea)
“Didn’t you feed last night?” Clara said in a perfect Parisian accent.
Evelyn smiled upon hearing the French, despite her proverbial slip of the tongue. All the while her fangs retracted, and she healed the cut without shedding another drop of blood. “Oui,” Evelyn replied before changing back to English. “She was positively scrumptious.”
Disclaimer: This novel is an work in progress and readers may encounter grammatical errors and inconsistencies. Please view this a draft and not a published work.
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