The Viscount mixed her blood into a barrel of the softest, expertly made wine I had ordered from the far corners of the realm, which had been aged for a few weeks since preparation. The tannins hadn’t broken down yet, and I could still see the wine particles in my tester. The blood flowed, viscous and pure, into the barrel. The Viscount started, saying

  “Tis an ol' method in my family, sire, we used to be ostracised because we had refused to comply with the king's order to turn our sigil to the iron crown. Seems madness now, yes, but my granddad used to have notions of family pride and culture, and he staunchly refused to do so.”

  “Hmm,” I said, as he mixed it further and further. The blood had dissolved into the wine, and I couldn’t tell the difference.

  I dipped my tester into the wine and was about to put it to my lips, when he said

  “The king sent some bottles of freshly made wine, signifying that we shouldn’t war over such petty things. My father understood that this was a secret missive and that the king was testing us. “If there are any apart from the current lord who would accept his request, the wine was for them.” It was an old wives' tale, but it is a real as they come, m’lord.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  I set the tester aside and asked, “What did your father do?”

  “Why, he killed my grandpapa and his wives, and mixed their blood into wine. He sent a few of the bottles back to the king as a token of his loyalty.”

  I then noticed that he wore a sigil in his necklace, an iron crown on the front, and a pelican on the background.

  “The blood thins the wine, your highness, it softens it unnaturally so and gives it a soft, creamy aftertaste. It suppresses the bitterness and heightens the high, akin to some illicit powders. I’ve tried pig blood, ox blood, goat, and many other animals' blood in this wine,” he said, “But human blood tastes the finest.”

  I pocketed the tester. The Viscount knew what he was doing, and he was of a similar scientific temperament to mine. He would not rest, even after his crowning achievement; he would hunger, forevermore. But his pursuits disgust me. My interests now tended toward the madness that this monster symbolized. My interests tended toward the madness and illogical nature of this being.

  However, when I returned to the basement to conduct further enquiries, her corpse was gone, and my butler was dead, his body dessicated to the point that he was completely dehydrated. There was probably no water in him now. And the monster was on the loose, again.