One pencil starts sizzling, and the distinct scent of burning flesh finally erupts into the room. Arion grins again, as the room’s smell turns rancid. “Well, that’s intriguing. I’ll call those the sizzlers,” Arion chirps as he walks around to a box of pencils and actually labels it. With a marker, not a pencil. Fucking vampires. “Fucking vampires,” Damien says, echoing my own sentiments, as he massages his temples and exhales harshly.
