From SuspireWiki

Intro to Lola

"So, if I give you a hundred dollars, what can you do to that bitch for me?"

These are the worst sorts of men.

I patiently watch him as he scrapes together money out of his wallet and flaunts it at me (whore) like I were a prostitute to him because of his fundage. The idea of his blood on my floor later makes my fangs almost distend. Were I a few years younger, it might have just happened. Instead I press his hand slowly down to the table and give it a squeeze.

I tell him that I need him to be calm, because he's ruining the energies of the room. Complete bullshit, but why bother fucking with the traditional things sometimes? It works for Miss Cleo, right? He gets up and paces, which is irritating because it makes my Rico have to stop from his place in sneaking up with a gag. Rico is a good boy, though I remember him being so much more talkative when I was alive and madly in love with him.

Then he slapped me around enough that I needed stitches and dumped me. I think it's poetic justice that he's my little (whore) bitch now. I tell him to hop and he hops around. He's a little posable, breakable inflatable punching bag, full of life and spunk. I teach him things now, to help me, but I've hollowed him out and made him mine.

But back to my little John, pretending I'm his little fortune-telling (whore) hexing witch prostitute for hire. His pacing is getting on my nerves. Everyone tells me I shouldn't toy with my food, it's too Daeva-like, but it's fun. Besides, the blood tastes different depending on the hormones in the blood. Anger, fear, lust, everything tastes different. Sometimes I'm in the mood for something new. Tonight is Angry Blood on the menu. I tell my little John to go over everything again, and I can see his blood pressure skyrocket.

Rico's a good boy, he doesn't even argue anymore or have an episode of man-sympathy when I tell him to remove testicles.

Ocular Ravishment