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Amanda hmm’ed again, a diverse multitude of colors painting her face in an almost prismatic glow. Silently, she assessed again, twirling a well-worn stylus between fingers.

She felt good about Eshwlyn, proud even. After countless redos and retakes, the tappings on her table growing more frantic, she finally managed to perfectly capture the silent resolve in her solemn expression. The little details too, the dull gleam of her suit of armor, the subtle reluctance in her bow-it truly was one of her finer sketches.

Then there was him.

Amanda mmm’ed this time, leaning in closer to the almost blinding glow of her monitor.

Wilvur looked... fine.

He wasn’t as complex as Eshwlyn’s design. A simple elegant suit, a thick mane of frizzy white hair over his broad shoulders, acting almost like a furry crown looming over his pale, always smiling face.

.....

“His eyes maybe?” She thought out loud, tilting her head sideways for a different angle.

Perhaps so. Now that she really looked, really scoured... perhaps she had used a harsher shade of red than she should. When in contrast with everything else, it only seemed to make him all the more inhumane.

With scrunched lips and squinty eyes, Amanda quickly glanced over to the other monitor on her right. Her pupils daring about like the flapping of a hummingbird’s wings, gleaning over the rushing stream of messages streaking past her display.

Stroking a non-existent beard, Amanda then quietly read out the sparse few responses she actually managed to catch.

-“Looks good. Want to strangle him already.”

-“Eyes are fine. Maybe missing a bullet hole in between them, other than that, pretty pog,” She let out a chuckle on that one. “Okay, thanks...”

-“Leave it alone. If you zoom in on his face again, I’m going to break my monitor.”

The council of chat hath spoken. Reading between the tirade of insults and slander, clearly, nobody else had any minute flaws, imaginary or otherwise, to pick apart in her sketch.

Then hurling among the speedy wall of text, a bold blurb of bright red popped up, and the ‘ca-ching!’ chime of her notification alerted her of a donation... and with a slightly exasperated sigh, Amanda began to read out loud.

“Hey, Amanda, pretty great stream so far! Your drawings are as magnificent as always. Wilvur looks amazing! One favor though – please don’t draw him again. Once again, fun stream! Keep it up!”

Amanda gave an acknowledging nod, staring deep into the lens of her camera with a dull stare.

“Thank you, Eshwlynbestwaifu, for the five dollars. Sound advice you have there! I’ll, uh, I’ll be sure to keep it in mind for the next time. Definitely.”

She blinked, and she felt the invisible weight of fatigue pressing heavily against her eyelids. Peering over at the time on the bottom right, Amanda felt her stomach give a small lurch.

“Oh, Christ, it’s three in the morning already! Seriously? I should be asleep by now,” She shifted in her seat, swiveling and stretching, letting out audible moans that momentarily sent her chat scrolling at the speed of light. Already too accustomed to the Internet’s customs, Amanda just blew an accepting sigh. “You’re all like dogs, you know that, chat? Drooling and howling the way you all are...”

-“But we’re your dogs,” replied a user in the raging sea of depravity.

She smirked. “Alright, fair enough, I guess. Howl away, then.”

The rest of the stream was spent bickering and bantering with chat; the sketch she drew remained unfinished, stashed away in an untitled folder somewhere, with the flimsy assurance given that she’ll probably finish it in the next session, and which no one in her audience took seriously.

“No, I don’t think Wilvur is worse than Terestra,” Amanda retorted, wedging herself in between a heated discussion. “Like you’re comparing the complete extinction of all existence to Elf-enslavement which is... you know... um... I mean, I don’t condone enslavement-obviously- but... when compared to what Terestra does... it’s not that... okay, actually you know what, forget it. Alright, sure, fine, Wilvur’s a big poopy-face.”

Then on a discussion on exactly how long Eshwlyn’s indoctrination period lasted, she decided to offer her speculation. “Probably a year or two, right? I’m not sure how many of you read the novel-spoilers-but, given her innate talent and skill, plus her sister being dangled like a carrot in front of her... a year or two sounds about right. In any case, I guess we’ll find out for sure once the new game finally releases.”

Eventually, the sensation of solid bricks sat heavy on her eyelids, exhaustion turning her yawns into the droning wails of a whale, only getting louder and longer by the second. And once she finally took notice that she was slurring her words, Amanda finally decided to call it quits for the day.

Giving her thank-yous and goodbyes to everyone present, Amanda hovered her mouse over to the option to end the broadcast. And it was with that click, did a familiar chime rang through his speakers... and she caught one last tiny red blurb scroll by along with the many heartfelt goodnights in the corner of her eye.

<>

No doubt she’ll have to address that donation at some point, as well as many other donations sent in the downtime.

“Next time...” She said in an assurance that she couldn’t at all take seriously.

Long hours of only exclusively sitting in place had her staggering around the barren quiet of her living room like a corpse.

Suddenly the hallway leading to her bedroom looked as if it stretched on for miles and miles. A taxing trek she couldn’t be bothered with.

And besides... couches were kinda underrated, honestly...

In a big ball of baggy clothes and disheveled blond locks, Amanda took the warm comfort of her couch like the tender embrace of a long-missed lover, and was nearly, so nearly seduced to the peaceful pleasure of slumber... before her little intimate moment was abruptly interrupted.

With all the grace and subtlety of squeaky shoes at a funeral, a loud assailing knock rattled the timbered surface of her front door.

At once, all traces of exhaustion dissipated from her body, replaced by pure bewilderment as Amanda threw a furrowed stare at her closed doorway over the armrest-the lateness of the night not lost on her. She quietly threw her feet against the floorboards, up and about, scurrying without a creak, before cautiously peering through the peephole on her door.

Something immediately imploded inside of her. A sinking feeling-possibly a bomb-plunging down a seemingly bottomless hole in her stomach. It took all fiber, all effort, all the strength in her throat muscles, to stifle the scream, the deafening shockwave from the implosion from leaving her lips.

There was... something there... something... staring back at her... something... horrifying... swirling... so gray and murky... and...

Familiar.

Amanda peeked through the peephole-the swirling, murky gray still staring back, another knocking on her door reverberating slow and sluggish-and feeling a wave of deep incredulity wash away the rubble and debris inside her, she hurriedly swung open her front door as wide as it would go.

Instantly, the murky gray became a pair of swirling two, and then there, standing unsettlingly stiff at the front of her doorstep, was a long-buried nightmare manifesting in the form of Adalia’s deep, vacant stare.

Adalia’s hand was still raised, jagged fingers in the form of a curled fist, slowly falling back down to her side, then her misty eyes gave a flick, catching Amanda’s befuddled expression, and spoke, “Good... morning...”

At first, words had utterly failed her and Amanda thought perhaps her vocal cords fell victim to the explosion prior, but then after taking a better look at her surprise visitor’s appearance, it shot out of her lips before she even realized what she was saying.

“That isn’t yours,” was the resulting echo that resounded, and she was quite surprised at how accusatory she sounded.

Then again, if a creepy vampire showed up knocking at your front door, her bare, pale skin clothed in nothing but the baggy, wrinkled shirt that you instantly recognized as belonging to your boyfriend... surely then, it was all well-founded... surely...

“Yes...” Adalia replied, also glimpsing down at the large white shirt that had swelled her once slender figure into looking nothing more than like a slightly deflated marshmallow. “Not... mine...”

Realizing it was already far too late for a more courteous greeting, Amanda decided to just simply double down, “Well then,” She put up a brave front, daring to lean outwards, closer, swerving glances left and right across the empty corridor. “Where’s the owner of that shirt, then?”

“Sleep...ing...”

“He’s sleeping?”

A silent nod.

“Safe?” She continued to peruse, narrowing her eyes back at Adalia. “At home, snug and not in any danger?”

“Yes...” The vampire answered. “Safe... snug... at home... and together... with Ash...

Amanda felt something inside her shrink and shrivel. “Together with Ash, huh?” spoke a deep unpleasant voice that surely wasn’t hers. “I’m just gonna chalk that up to your phrasing and not try to imagine anything.”

“He’s with... Sera... too...” Adalia added.

“Okay, whatever!” Amanda snapped, briefly wishing her ears had the ability to un-hear. “So if he’s safe, and snug, and sleeping oh so freaking nice with two girls at his side,” She whirled back around at Adalia again, expression narrowed tight. “What aren’t you snuggling up to him too? What are you doing here?”

It all felt like a bizarre dream. Perhaps it was, perhaps she was already deeply ensnared in sleep, kept an unwilling prisoner to the bizarreness her mind could conjure. If so, then maybe Adalia wasn’t real, maybe she wasn’t even here. Maybe she could just reach out, and the vampire might just vanish in a puff of smoke.

But then the sour truth sunk in, she knew undeniably, that no vivid imagination of hers could ever perfectly replicate the sharp glint of those claws, nor the way those blood-curdling fangs protruded when she spoke. No, not even in her worst nightmares, would she feel this... real...

And with that same vacant stare that plagued her early dreams so many times before, the real Adalia spoke once more.

“Help...” She whispered. “I want... you... to help me...”

“Help? Amanda cocked her head back, disbelief having a second go contoring her already distorted expression. “What could I possibly do to help you with anything?”

Uncertainty and reluctance, she tried to greatly emphasize in her response. But either Adalia did not hear it, or she herself was as much certain and confident about her chosen person for aid.

“I have... a date...”

Amanda felt her jaw clenched, felt a hot-warmth in the breath that left her nostrils. “A date...”

“Christmas...” Adalia explained. “I want to have... a good date for Christmas...”

“Well, good for you, I suppose,” She hissed out, forcing herself to bear a smile that she seriously hurt her cheeks. “It’s... with him, right? I’m sure it’ll be great, special...”

“But I... don’t know... how to... date humans...” The clueless, emotionless vampire continued on. “You are... human. Human... like him. You know... how to... date. How to... love... like a human...”

Amanda squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, um, actually I don’t really...”

“Please... teach me... how to date...” Adalia implored, her vacant eyes suddenly so strikingly focused, staring back at her. “Please... teach me... how to love... a human... like you...”