“Sorry to burst your bubble, but she isn’t a vampire.” Uncle Thatch sets his papers down, leaning forward and peering at me from his chair with a small grin. “And if she was, I’d be one too. Whatever your Aunt Lyra is, I am.” Their love is a sickening breed. Just like my parents’. That once-in-a-lifetime, fuck-the-world, we’re-destined-to-be-together love.
