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LAURALAE

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[rakta]

[ My child, he says, and it ought to sting, but somehow it does not.

Instead, Lauralae leans forward and takes what is offered to her, heedless of any eyes that might dare to twist to look upon them. She has no room in her spirit for those that might offer her harsh words and cruelties, and when she is being given a gift... It is hard not to take it, to relish it for what it is, especially from someone who claims such fondness from her.

Her mouth wraps around him, tongue curling over the gentle ooze of his blood, and the sound she makes is more inhuman than anything she has given before. It is a growl, dangerous, and she presses closer, chasing the taste of it, the warmth of it, eyes close and basking in how delicious it is to her. ]

[nishtha]

That's it.

[ Armand sighs encouragement as Lauralae fastens to his hand like a fledgling getting her first meal, licking and sucking, a cold pain starting down his wrist and the inside of his arm as his blood is drawn away. He notes the ecstasy in her expression, which is good -- he'd been a little concerned that his dark gift might not be compatible with hers. He watches with a faint pleasure the way she shivers and swallows.

But all good things have to come to an end. Gently, he pulls his hand away. ]

Not too much. A small amount should be enough. Too much may bring on madness. [ Certainly it does in normal mortals. Hallucinations and addiction, even in the tiniest drop. He's hoping Lauralae will be able to cope with it. ]

It should heal you, if you are hurt inside. At the very least, I hope it will bolster your own gifts and give you a little power back.

[rakta]

[ Lauralae does not think much more madness could fit inside her small head, but she listens all the same.

Armand is a man she trusts, for what little trust means to her, and the gift he offers her confuses, frustrates, agonises her, but also fills her with a deep longing that she had not been able to put to words before now. The need for flesh, for blood, to be consumed and consume; it had been so foreign to her, suddenly brought to light in a damning display, even as she leans back to gaze at him, seeing no disgust on his features.

It would be strange indeed, for a vampire to be disgusted at a girl longing for blood.

Her hands settle, resting over her stomach, and she nods her head, eyes remaining glued to his face, eerily unblinking. ]

You have my thanks, Armand.

[ Her voice is soft, hoarse, despite all he had given her. ]

I feel... Better. [ For what little better means. ]