More From the Crypt of Carlisle Craven
The girl, Porcelain, very confused now. She was oblivious as she stepped into the house. Her fate unknown to her. Carlisle Craven smiled. How could he not? He'd been waiting patiently for a suitable victim to come along. His body frail from lack of nourishment. He would surely rip his own throat out if he didn't do it soon. His mind spiraling into delirium as his body shook with instability. At long last he had her in his clutches. Porcelain's fine figure stumbling about his very parlor. It was time to dine.
“Ms. Ilvenn, Why don't you sit down?” He suggested slyly as he walked into the kitchen. “Do you happen to be thirsty?” He giggled. He poured a glass of heavy wine, she should at least be numbed before her killing. He weakly walked back into the parlor and seated himself on the velvet couch next to her.
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