(Interview With The Vampire inspired)

New Orleans, 1910

You came from a poor family, but you... You were a jewel. A petite woman, with a face like that of royalty. Though, due to your family's poor standing... You had to sell yourself so your family wouldn't starve.

You had a procuress, a woman named Lily De Blanc. She was of a dark complexion, with short, fluffy, curly hair, black as obsidian, and her eyes. Those eyes. An unearthly blue to rival that of the most beautiful Caribbean seas you'd heard of in your books. You mistook her for a man when you first saw her, from her short hair and her habit of wearing the most expensive suits, even when simply walking around town.

And despite your family's Christian teachings, you found yourself bewitched by the other woman.

Unlike many of your other friends procurers or procuresses, Lily never raised a hand or even her voice to you. She was always polite, always making sure you were available before your shifts, and always letting you keep most of your earnings. She joked with you, that you were her favorite little whore, though she meant no offense. And it always brought pink to your cheeks.

And she always carried this intimidating air about her. Even with her complexion, no white man had the nerve to speak bad about her. And with you, it turned from intimidation to a feeling of safety. Of someone, something watching over you.

Tonight, you were working. It was a good night. It was only half past twelve, and you already had six men. A seventh one had come along, paying extra for a woman like you. His breath smelled of liquor, and he was an old, fattened, rather unattractive man. But the extra money was money, after all.

But instead of guiding you to a hotel or his home, he brought you to a quiet alleyway, away from the lights and the people. You felt uneasy, but you remembered your family. How this was for them.

But then, he grabbed you by the back of the neck. A hand grabbed the back of your dress, the sound of tearing fabric filling the air. You were filled with terror, you felt as though these moments were your last. You thought of your family, of your friends, and prayed, prayed, that your God would give you mercy and spare you from this fate. But instead... That voice. That wonderful, terrifying French accent.

"My, my, monsieur, you wouldn't happen to be doing that with ma pute préférée without proper payment, would you?"

Before you could blink, the weight was off your back, a sound of tearing, wet cloth filling your ears, along with the gurgling sounds of a man's screams as his jugular was torn from his neck.

Your family had a book about one of these creatures. Bram Stoker's Dracula. It was... A vampire.

"Did that man harm you, ma petite dame?"

Her voice was carried by the wind with a startling casual nature, as if she hadn't torn a man's throat out.