“Why do I solely choose a male blood host? I’ll tell you.” A surge of gratification washed over me. Finally, I could address this nonsense. “Because I was told about a year and a half ago that a certain witch got up on stage at her sisters’ birthday celebration, performed an inebriated rendition of Alanis Morissette’s ‘You Oughta Know,’ then was put soundly to bed by her sister who happened to see a text on the drunk sister’s phone of me feeding on another woman.”
