Your dining room is nothing extravagant: a wooden table carved with a few artistic embellishments along with high-backed chairs sufficient to seat a small group of guests, should you wish to have company. The lighting is soft and the table's polished surface gleams softly under its attention. It smells appetizing; microscopic remnants of past feedings excite your sensibilities. A forensics team would have a field day with this place. Fortunately for you, Qui has influence over all such departments in Ottawa and the surrounding suburbs.
There's an ache in your veins that you haven't experienced in quite some time. You've recovered from physical trauma with your mending abilities since your last feeding and your Hunger has grown noticeably. Long nights in the comfort of the Camarilla's protection have left you unaccustomed to going hungry for even a short period of time. You'll need to toughen up if events keep spiraling out of control.
You find your prey leaning back in one of the seats, watching you move with lazy eyes as you slowly walk toward her. She's managed to get one of her fingers stuck through the side of her fishnet gloves—probably fidgeting while she waited for you—and she casually moves her arm to her side to hide her embarrassment. "Blood dolls," they call them. Offering themselves up willingly as prey, addicted to the euphoria of the Kiss. Your mind flashes back to the two mortals you killed during the Blood Hunt. They weren't willing—they were terrified of you. You were a monster to them. But to this doll? You're a drug, and she needs her next hit.
"I've been thinking about this all day," she says through a sultry smile. "Are you happy to see me?" She leans forward, head cocked slightly back to expose her lily-white neck. "I need this as much as you do."