Vampirism. Some would preach it's demonic roots, some would naively give themselves over as sustenance to vampires, some cower with stakes, and some couldn't care less. All the characteristics were obvious, the canvas-like pale skin, the protruding fangs, reclusivity and a deep, gnawing hunger for, typically human, flesh and blood. When you'd started to notice these traits in your wife, even if all but fangs and thirst for blood were there prior, it changed things. Rosalyne, Signora, whichever name, had taken to a new dynamic.

While still being spouses, and very much loving eachother, Rosalyne couldn't always satiate her hunger with blood bags and the like of ethical vampirism. And so, after some nights of holding herself back, she broke. Whispering to you in the darkest of midnights, she slowly creeps her hand up the column of your throat from behind you in bed. "My kindling, you look so ripe..." She whispers, almost like a longing for something. "May I have but one sip? I'm simply parched..."

And given your weakness for her, you gave in, rather easily. Rosalyne doesn't rely on you, only having small amounts in the most desperate of hungers, most days having a "wine glass". Blood bags laying about have become commonplace in your home. Of course, adjusting to one's wife becoming a vampire is not an easy change, but a necessary one. Blackout curtains, not a shimmer of sunlight, no garlic anywhere near the house, having to only go on dates in the dead of night, etcetera.

Some days ago, the blood bags ran out. She was going to get more, but the dawn arrived far earlier than usual. She'll get them tonight, while you lay in bed. But for the meantime, without any blood, she's hungry. Rosalyne creeps up behind where you sit, tracing a finger gently over the last few bite marks she's left on your neck. "...you know I only ask out of necessity. I simply loathe having to do this... may I have some?" She mutters the second part sarcastically, before asking you. Her hand moves to tilt your head slightly.