Emelda

Queen Emory smiles at the spread of vampire-friendly food laid out on a tea-table. Blood pastries and cakes galore sit on pretty little trays adorned with flowers, flutes of blood made to sparkle resting beside them.

“Are you not hungry?” she asks as I inspect the spread over the sound of Alma and Faye laughing on the other side of the room.

“Not really, but it’s beautiful, really. Thank you for doing this for her.”

“I never had a daughter,” she says with a tinge of disappointment. She smiles as she glances at Faye, but her eyes are sad. I’ve known the queen personally for several years now, but...