Greneth rose the following evening, dressed, and drank a draught of blood from the refrigerator. He shook the container and admired whatever they did to it to stop the congealing. If only they'd had that years ago.
With no messages waiting, it seemed he had a day off. The door beckoned, with the promise of a thousand entertainments scattered in the citadel's public areas, but he couldn't make himself go. He didn't want to see what else might be out there. Verchiel. Or Senya.
Or Griselda.
He flipped the TV on and tried to feign interest in the shows. Most were too stupid to bother with. He landed at last on a music channel. Videos flashed by with made up men in leather, women bound in chains, cut up dolls.
It looked too much like the haunted house. He shut it off and threw the remote across the room. This was ridiculous. He had to leave his room eventually, see her eventually. He might as well act like a man and get it over.