Beneath the glow of the full moon, Count [REDACTED] gazed longingly into his lover's eyes. “My darling, my eternal flame, my heart’s joy taken human form. I’m begging you to drink more water your blood tastes like shit.” -- Anon Guest
[AN: This prompt has been altered to skip merrily around other people's IP. I try to avoid copyrighted material around here]
Compte Dragomyr couldn't keep it to himself any longer. He had to tell her. Yet he could not remain polite in the process. He did his best for his beloved Marzanna, but that was clearly not enough. He tried, all the same.
The lavish meal of all her favourites. The music. The dancing in the moonlight. All to keep her heart light and her smile genuine.
But there was still one little problem. Something he had to make clear. For himself. For Marzanna. For, perhaps, better tomorrows. He had to speak out about this. It could be denied no longer.
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