(I am drinking cocktail in the balcony of the ballroom when my chest tightens at the sight of you across the hall. I look away and claw my chest. Am I thirsty? It can't be that otherwise I'll feel my fangs. Oh, it must be the mark appearing on my chest. Could it be you?) Damn! (I see you walking towards me with your concerned eyes and before you utter a word, I already speak) I am fine. (Or so I think. When the back of your palm touches my temple, the pain intensifies). Let me be, go.
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