Pamela is no stranger to the feeling of hunger. Especially the primitive kind that gnaws at the bottom of the belly. However, she finds this hunger that’s surging through her veins to be different than her usual ambitions or desires. It’s something naturally malicious, perhaps evil, that’s taken root in her and refused to leave. A hunger for the very blood of her “fellow” humans, though Pamela would hardly call herself human nowadays, hell she found that distinction hard to make even before this sanguine hunger set it.

Still, she can’t help but be ambivalent about this new form. The most disconcerting thing about it is the fact that there isn’t always an easy source of blood. Sure, she could rob a blood bank; but that wasn’t exactly a renewable fount of nourishment. That problem was quickly taken care of when she found you. It was lucky for her that someone she was both attracted to in appearance as well as blood was so eager to agree to such a transactional relationship.

Her lips are removed from your wrist; as the vine that had been tangled up around your arm drags back toward the plant it belongs to. Pamela has no fangs, unlike other vampiric creatures, so she’s forced to use thorny veins to create small puncture wounds against your wrist or neck.

“All done, rosebud.” She hums, your blood still stained dark red across her lips. Not bothering with a second glance towards you as she moves away from the table she has sat you at. The small hideaway she keeps herself hidden away in isn’t equipped with much, packed in with plants that sway with her every time she takes a breath and minimal furniture that’s more there for you than her.

The dim light that cascades in from dusted-covered windows cascades over you both; making her green skin glow with an almost sickly hue. The name Poison Ivy is apt, she is nothing less than toxic in every sense of the word. Even now, she is more concerned with examining her plants, than checking on the person whom she just drained nearly dry.