There is no equipment here, no props, no furniture, save for the chairs inhabited by a score of odd-looking people. You realize, after a moment of consideration, that they are not human. They are a mish-mash of zombies, vampires, werewolves and such. Upon further study, you see that behind them, in the brush, there are even more creatures that aren’t even close to human in form.
One of the humanoids looks at you with placid black eyes. “Interested?” It is only one word, but you feel a stirring within you, and you are drawn to this being, so dark yet so irresistible. You want nothing more than to touch that alabaster skin, to run your finger along those blood red lips, to meld with that otherwordly body. You realize it is a vampire, and you have fallen under that sensual spell woven by their kind.
“It won’t be like the other times.” Even the voice is like a melody to your ears. “You won’t come back like us. You’ll just be dead.” Now you are ever so close to each other, and you feel yourself tilting your head back in both dread and unquenchable need. “Such sweet blood. I can smell it,” says that voice in a reverent whisper.
The other creatures moan, or growl, or whatever it is they do. They want you, too. You have to decide which of them will take you, or if you want to run for your life.
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