#fuzzy companion (werewolf!baker)

[wilfordsbakingshop]

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

When he has permission, he comes into the room. Carrying the Lord's food on a giant tray. He's been doing better at making 2 meals per week like he suggested. Each one having a healthy amount of blood in them. It seemed to be working, as the color was slowly sleeping back into his face. His Lord was healthy. That's all that mattered.

He places it down in front of him, before lifting the cover.

Tonight's meal seemed to be a pasta. Spaghetti to be specific. It was the easiest way he could think to hide the blood he'd put in there. Honestly... He was too tired to try and think of anything else.

"For you, my Lord."

"Uhm, my Lord... I have some food for you."

Miraculously, it's as if the cut on Wilfords hand never healed. Seemingly always gaping, bandage always stained red. And all of the Lord's food had a hint of his blood in it.

It had it's affects. Every once in a while, he'd have the sudden urge to take a nap. Or he fell down the stairs that he had no trouble getting down before.

But it was worth it. If his Lord was fed, he was happy.

Just from the few meals he’s eaten from Wilford, it’s like his hunger has disappeared entirely. Putting it down to the accidental contamination in the soup and pie still working it’s magic. Whatever this humans blood was made of, it’s been the only thing to satiate his hunger for long.

Though…he can’t help but worry. Noticing the constant wound on him, it makes his mind wander. What if he knew? No…he’s hid it wonderfully. There can’t be a way, he must just think the blood helps him in another way. Able to walk around again, but still worried when he sees Wilford disappear for a few days at a time. The thud he’s heard down the stairs frightens him, wondering what he’s been doing to himself.

“Come on in my darling!” Colour is actually in his face for once, a light pink covering his cheeks for once. Donovan happily lounges in one of the tea rooms, waiting for his human.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

Winter was the best and worst of both worlds. More hours of darkness meant he could venture out a little further than usual without the constant threat of the sun coming up too soon. But the cold was horrific. Already a beast without any blood, the little left inside of him freezes into solid packs of snow. It’s why he seeks out fires, candles that burn inches from his skin for something warm.

This year..he has an assistant for once. Someone warm, more than the average human. Blood that satiated him more than anything and a person he can cuddle with. Only trouble was trying to find him the labyrinth of the manor.

@murdersinthemaking

Winter was always a messy time for him. Two sides fought for control, causing more turmoil in his already struggle-filled life. On one hand, he wished to prepare, get himself ready for the months of snow and cold, start prepping meals and a nest that would be warm enough to thaw out even the iciest of beings. And the other side... wished to rest. Sleep. Go out and play in the snow, before curling up by the fire.

So much to do. And yet, it was as if he couldn't start any of it. All he could do was sit here, by the window, watching the endlessly cloudy sky. Wishing he could just... do something. Find the ability to do something.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

While he’s been gladly entertaining Wilford, Donovan hasn’t even thought of food. Enjoying the scent of his blood so much, he forgets entirely about his own feedings. Originally planning on trying to meet the beast again, but caught up with spending time with his human. Not even having the chance to go out to the village and get a quick meal.

It’s been three weeks since he last fed, and Donovan’s surprised he’s still on his feet. Stumbling about the castle most of the time. Occasionally he wanders to the cellar, debasing himself by licking up the dried blood on the stones.

Lying across one of the couches, he can just about keep his eyes open. Starving horribly, cheekbones visible.

@murderinthemaking

Wilford runs frantically about the kitchen. Going back and forth between the pot of boiling soup, and the pies baking in the oven. He couldn't let either one burn.

He's been so caught up in spending time with the Lord that he forgot to do the one thing he's brought him here for: Cook food.

He could only imagine how hungry he must be. He didn't know what vampires are, but as a werewolf, he still needed to consume food. His poor Lord had been starving for he didn't even know he long.

He looks down at his wrist, the bandage he's out on seeping with red. Wilford had put an extra special ingredient into the Lord's food. The reason the soup was dark red, and the pies crust had turned slightly purple. And why he felt slightly loopy as he ran about.

"My Lord, your meal is almost done!" He called out. Trying his best to cook as quickly as possible.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

"Yes, I do! You said you wanted something musical, yes?" He reaches under the counter again, and pulls out a larger booklet. This one was full of designs. Anything you could think of, it was here. And if it wasn't, then he'd make it anyway.

Flipping through the pages, he makes it to the dedicated music section. "Turnable... Guitar... Drum set... Ah! Piano!"

He flips the book towards her. The design is hand-drawn. A sheet cake made to look like a piano.

Maria had the tendency to be set in her ways. If she found a store or restaurant she liked, she would visit those few places exclusively. She was always incredibly busy with rehearsals, piano lessons, and the like that she wasn't the best at venturing out of her comfort zone.

But there was a small bakery that caught her attention a couple of times before, when she was hurrying off to the next thing. But now, she was seeking it out on purpose. Entering through the door, she takes a look around at the interior. She couldn't help but smile. It was hard not to when everything was so brightly colored.

@mariasymphony

DING!

The bell above the door rings, and Wilford is brought out of his own little bubble. Half way through frosting a cupcake when it happens. A customer!

He carefully sets the bag down atop the counter, and wipes his hands on his apron, before stepping out from the back, signature smile on his face.

Woah.

Hes taken aback for a moment... wow. She certainly was pretty, wasn't she? Not in a creeper way. In a "You look absolutely fabulous, and you know it" kind of way. What was someone like her doing in his shop? Shouldn't she be in Hollywood?

"Welcome to Wilford Warfstaches Sweets Emporium. I'm Wilford, how may I help you?"

[wilfordsbakingshop]

With what he assumes is his permission, Wilford rises off of the ground. The leg on which he knelt on was slightly dirtier than the other. Maybe he could sweep as his pie baked. Wouldn't do any harm to clean up some more. "I should... But I just can't find it in me to sleep."

The place was small, at least compared to the Lord. Each table had a small candle on it, the wax a light pink. In fact, there were traces of light pink everywhere. From the door the Lord had walked in through, to the seating on the tables. A vast contrast to the seemingly endless dark place. Even Wilford's uniform was pink. Though that was from a food dye incident, and not his own hand.

"Oh, I make sweets. Cakes, pies, sweet breads. Anything. I try my very best, my Lord."

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

"Heh, I suppose so."

Something tells him that he shouldn't be speaking to a Lord like this. That he'll get in major trouble to speaking too casually to someone with such high power. Though again, he wasn't the type to be easily scared. If anything, he saw it as a chance to make a connection. A chance to make a friend.

"Yes, it's mostly just me... a few people come in every now and again, but it's always the same people. Though sometimes I can't even rely on that." Many of his customers had vanished, never to be seen again. He always just assumed they went into the forest, but even when he searched, there was nothing.

When he notices the flask, his eyes go wide "Oh, I apologize, I haven't even offered you something to drink! Um... Would tea do?"

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

Even when sitting, the Lord towers over him. A good foot above him. He wasn't used to being the one to look up. At his 5'11 build, usually he was the one looking down.

"Uh, I have some pies that I didn't sell today. Mostly apple, though I do have a meat pie as well. I was also prepping another pie. I can make that for you right now if you wish, it'd just take a bit more time."

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

To say that the Lord was intimidating would be an understatement. The sheer energy he let off, it made the air thick enough to cut with a knife. He didn't know what he did to warrantsuch energy in his shop, and he didn't know if he liked it or not.

He gulps. "I've been here for a while, my Lord. Maybe about a year or so. I'm self-taught. My father was a very old-fashioned man. And my mother, while supportive of me, didn't exactly think my skill would get me very far. But she provided the sugar. I made my sweets. And now here I am." Of course both his mother and father were dead and gone. Not that they really cared for him anyway.

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

His eyes go wide.

That one bag was worth more than his entire shop. Hell, probably his entire life.

"Oh! Lord Donovan! I... I can't take this!" He has to be the first person to deny a bag of gold. "This is too much! Please, take it back, I beg you!"

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

His hands are shaky. For a moment, he thinks it's his mind. His already slipping sanity growing further apart from his being. But no, that's not what was happening. It felt too real. He was too aware. The moon wasn't full tonight. He wasn't imaging things. This was real.

Before he can make the mistake of pleading his case, the Lord tells him to check the oven. Probably for the best. To speak back would be dangerous.

He simply nods, and rushes to the back, pulling the pies out with the same stick he used.

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

"Indeed, the moon is beautiful. Though when it's full... Then it's truly magnificent." Though he could never quite remember witnessing it for himself. That's what he got for landing on the poor side of the gene pool.

He comes back out with two apple pies, and one meat pie. All boxed up in their own dyed cardboard boxes, and a pink string.

"Me? At the castle? No offense, my Lord, but I believe there's more experienced chefs in the village. I'm just a baker. I can't exactly offer much."

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

When the Lord writes down the instructions, he lets out a sigh of relief. No forgetting. He wouldn't forget. Not if he could help it.

"Thank you, my Lord. I'll try my best. I promise."

He gets down on one knee again, kneeling before him. "May you have a safe passage home, my Lord."

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

There's a claw beneath his jaw. He wasn't imagining it. That was an actual claw. He swallows. Okay, he wasn't dying, so that was good. But that was a fucking claw.

Calm down, Wilford. No reason to frewk. The Lord isn't the only one with claws. You know that.

"Wilford, my Lord. Wilford Warfstache."

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

Even as the fire dulls down to nothing but embers, he still feels incredibly warm. He has dreams of laying in the sun, taking in the rays of light. And with him... is the Lord. He doesn't know how it's possible, but he's there in the sun with him. And if the smile on his face says anything, he's happy. Finally able to see the sun rise above them.

He manages to cuddle even closer to the Lord as he's sleeping, nuzzling him.

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.

[wilfordsbakingshop]

"Okay... Goodnight, Donovan."

Small against the Lord's side, he lets his eyes shut. Maybe this was a good thing. That they felt something for one another. There was a potential for something here. Potential for what, he still wasn't sure. But his heart felt light, and he was currently bundled up in a blanket ball against his side, so that had to mean something.

It’s a quiet village, far from the recesses of most of humanity. Occupied by only a few dozen people, mostly human. Ruled over by a lord, hidden away in a castle nearly every single day. Emerging only as the sun sets, causing rumours to spread like the plague throughout the town. Those who spread it never make it longer than a year.

It’s another night, and he’s starving. Practically able to smell the blood rushing through everyone in the sleeping village. Not yet..he has to wait. He can’t keep claiming victims, not at the size of the village. He’ll have to travel eventually, try and find new meat.

Wandering through the darkness, he can see a few glowing candles still lit. Someone up at this hour? It’s some sort of shop, and he knocks. Waiting for an invite in.

@murderinthemaking

Another day, and another lovely night ahead.

Wilford rolled out the small bit of pie dough he had left, determined to make the most out it. Even if it ended up just being his own personal pie, a reward for his work today, he wouldn't let this go to waste.

The light was soft, the sky dark outside. All except for his shop. Not that he exactly had anywhere better to go. What, upstairs? To sleep in the chill of the attic? Not yet. Not the warmth of the bakery was so... warm.

He nearly misses it at first. Everyone was asleep, no? He would've thought that most people would've passed out, or be in their homes, scared of the legends that spread around the village. He was never one for fear of course. For many reasons. But that still didn't answer his question. Who was knocking at his door?

"Come in!" He calls to the mystery person.