Ever since the unfortunate events of the French Revolution, Magnus had nursed a slight prejudice against vampires. The undead were always killing one’s servants and endangering one’s pet monkey. The vampire clan in Paris was still sending Magnus rude messages about their small misunderstanding. Vampires bore a grudge longer than any technically living creatures, and whenever they were in a bad temper, they expressed themselves through murder. Magnus generally wished his companions to be somewhat less -no pun intended- blood-thirsty.
My life is over.
I had decided never to emerge from underneath my duvet again, and my plan was working perfectly until my mum came barging into my room -which STILL doesn’t have a lock on it, despite all my requests, because Mum seems to think she has the right to just barrel on in and invade my privacy whenever she likes.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” she said with a sign, yanking the duvet off me.