As he forged upwards, he began to shiver. Literally vanished, flicked out of existence as if he had never been there. I think you are mad. What power can fill an immortal with such dread? You did not tell me about this, said Kristian.
Anyway, this is Karl Alexander von Wultendorf; Karl, my daughter Charlotte, who, as I'm sure you're tired of hearing, is utterly invaluable to me. Oh, vampires cry, do they, Charlotte? Crocodile tears, I suppose. Yet there was something about him that was similar to Karl; a power of presence that seemed to eclipse the whole room. The first time you drank from her.
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