Guinevere was not at all fazed by the burning boy in front of her. She stared at him coolly as he spoke. Was he supposed to be intimidating?
Guinevere let a little hiss out as the lad called her a “fragile woman.” No sirree! She was not some sniveling coward to be gutted and eaten! Why must all men assume this!
It had to be the wings.
Guinevere decided to let the little runt finish. His name was Balerion, he was a prince, blah blah blah. Sigmas who also happened to be princes had had their necks broken and their blood sucked by her before. He wasn’t anything special.
“My name is Guinevere, slayer of warriors,” Guinevere hissed. She drew herself up to full form. “I better as f u c k smell of the undead. I am a vampire, and this strange land has given me the digits of a f u c king butterfly.” She spat the word as if it were a curse. “I’m not a fragile damsel. For the record, I do not need rescuing. You may think you’re some kind of “strong guy,” but I assure you, wait until you’ve seen my family in battle.” Her smile glowed wickedly. “I am the daughter of the White Lady, killer of kings in my own world. I am not up for prostitution. You can take your silly, absurd little ideas of pupping me and throw them into a burning pit.” She bared her teeth. She was thirsting for blood. “War is no problem for me. You can throw me into a hole teeming with cobras and rats, if you wish, and I will drain the blood and life from their bodies one by one.”



"She comes for your bones, she comes for your blood"