It Ain't Breakfast at Tiffany's

by Gail Fulkerson

The night was sour and disagreeable. Ophelia couldn't wait for the sunrise that marked night's end so she could fall into bed and dream the day away. The more hours between the events of the night and her waking, the better.

Ophelia was finishing a kill in the next town over when a woman,  walking alone, stumbled upon Ophelia and Roscoe drinking blood from an acquaintance of hers. The woman gasped, which made Ophelia look in her direction. Her preternatural eyes glowed in the semi-darkness as she hissed at the lone woman frozen to the spot. The woman was about to scream when a weight hit her in her midsection and took her breath away. Struggling to catch her breath, the woman stood hunched over, her hands on her knees, taking in great draughts of air. When she finally stood upright, she noticed that Ophelia was almost upon her. Not wanting the little vampire to get any closer, the woman began to step backwards, trying to keep distance between them.

Ophelia leapt and landed upon the woman with the force of something larger than herself and bit into her neck. The woman could feel the pull as Ophelia forcefully sucked blood from her body. She tried dislodging the diminutive attacker, but it was no use.

It was all over in minutes. The woman swooned and was soon dead, and Ophelia and Roscoe were sated. After filling some blood bags, the pair headed home, weighed down with their haul.                           
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Little Roscoe was bone tired and couldn't stay awake to have a cuppa blood tea with his mistress, so Ophelia sipped her tea alone and yawned. She was exhausted, too, but didn't want to go to bed without her nightly cuppa. After finishing the last sip, Ophelia took her cup to the kitchen, yawned again, and headed upstairs to bed. Roscoe, already snoring, didn't move when she got into the coffin bed as she settled in for the day.

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Ophelia awoke to the smell of burnt dog fur. Roscoe had been up for a pee in the middle of the day and returned to bed with his little tail smouldering. Ophelia extinguished it with a few pats of a blanketed hand. Roscoe was already asleep and didn't notice any of Ophelia's ministrations.

The pair slept until nearly midnight, the latest Ophelia could remember sleeping so long in recent months. The night was a write-off so far as hunting went; too few hours of darkness remained, so Ophelia and Roscoe stayed in. Ophelia went to the basement and brought up two Mason jars of blood for the two to sip on. Ophelia used a straw while Roscoe lapped blood from his dedicated blood bowl. And since they were staying in, Ophelia decided to bathe Roscoe. He wasn't one for baths, but it had been months since his last one, so he wouldn't put up too much of a fight. 

Ophelia poured some bubble bath into the steaming water and watched as the bubbles foamed. The scent was captivating - night-blooming jasmine, one of Ophelia's favourite perfumes. Disrobing, Ophelia slid under the bubbly water. Roscoe was eyeing the tub and its contents, wondering whether he would go in. Ophelia decided for him when she scooped him up from the bath mat and sat him between her knees. He wasn't thrilled, but he relented after a minute or two and relaxed.

The pair stayed in the tub until the water started to cool. Ophelia towelled herself off, and then it was Roscoe's turn. She lifted him out of the tub and placed him on the bath mat, where he shook himself. Water droplets landed on the walls and floor, but not too much since Ophelia had towelled him off well before setting him down.

Ophelia used an extra towel to wrap her hair in. Her hair was very long when she wore it down, and it would get into her blood tea which pissed her off no end. Roscoe thought the towel-wrapped hair was a good look on his mistress and wanted to copy her, so he placed a towel around his head and showed it off to Ophelia, who took one look and reached for Roscoe to straighten the towel, getting it out of his eyes and tightening it up so it wouldn't fall off.

"C'mon, Roscoe, let's go to the kitchen and make ourselves a steaming cuppa blood tea," Ophelia said as she strode down the hall to the stairs. With his recently singed tail wagging in agreement, Roscoe followed her.

The pair enjoyed their tea as they sat together in the parlour and watched the world go by through the large picture window. Tonight, they were observers rather than killers, and Ophelia found it refreshing to take a passive role for a change. Roscoe, however, got bored and fell asleep, but Ophelia wasn't sure whether it was boredom or the blood tea that sent Roscoe to his dreamland. Either way, she let him sleep. She gently lifted him from the sofa and carried him up to their coffin bed, where she laid him in his usual spot - top right corner - and placed a cover over him. Ophelia went back downstairs to keep looking out the window. She wanted to see more of the world as it went by.

Ophelia watched until the sun began to light the sky, then she went upstairs to bed. Roscoe didn't stir when she got into bed; the poor little guy must have been exhausted from their recent activity. Ophelia wished him a good day's sleep, gave him a few gentle pats, then rolled over and closed her eyes. She was asleep in moments.

(Created with the aid of Grammarly Assistant .)

-- Gail Fulkerson is a writer who specializes in writings of the supernatural. She lives with her family in Saskatchewan, where she is working on another story. This is a series about Ophelia Banks. Stay tuned to 'OZ' for future stories.