“Crafty little vermin.” Cassandra mutters, monotonous tone infected with poorly hidden curiosity as sharp eyes glare daggers at the suspicious concoction left to combine under the running mixing bowl.

The formulating batter is blood red and slightly chalky. As it should be, really, you made this for them. Her two sisters, and mother; as their kind aren’t able to digest normal human food without harming their internal organs. Or lack there of. Either way, you’d hope that they would appreciate the gesture.

You go great lengths to impress the intimidating ladies that run this household.

Looking over your shoulder, Cassandra watches you fuss over a warmed bowl of carefully tempered man’s blood. The sight and scent alone is almost enough to make her mouth fill with saliva.

Almost.

“What is it you’re making? Smells.. not so unpleasant.”