Transylvania, 401 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…
Current Version:
“How has the destruction of Wordler Village affected the Vampire community?”
Magnus glared back at the VampTV interviewer so hard, the man became too pale for the video cameras. The production team made all the adjustments they could, and still the monitors showed nothing but a face-shaped patch of brightness behind a layer of flop-sweat.
“Wordler Village was our home,” Magnus stated. “The REALM was one of the few lands where our kind could exist out in the open. We were welcomed. We were celebrated. We were seen. Except in mirrors, of course. Even the most accepting culture can’t change the laws of physics.”
“And now?”
“And now you’re an idiot,” Magnus exploded. “What sort of question is that? Things were good and now they’re not. We were safe and now we’re not. We love our country. The Coterie is made up of true-blooded Villagers.”
“Former Villagers,” the interviewer amended.
Magnus sighed. “We Vampires mourn for our homeland as deeply as any other denizens of the REALM. We mourn just as deeply for our QUEEN. And like our countrymen, we maintain the hope that someday the curse will be defeated, and we shall return to our homes in triumph. We were born Villagers, and Villagers we remain. We didn’t lose our patriotism just because we drank some magic-fortified blood and became undead predators with supernatural strength.”
The interviewer tapped his earpiece, as if unclear on some new instruction he’d received. He looked over at the production manager, who gestured for him to continue. The interviewer nodded, and pressed on. “With all due respect, Magnus, you’re not like other Villagers, are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You profess loyalty to the QUEEN of the REALM, but our sources tell us that as she lay dying, when you could have granted her immortality, you let chose to her go. You claim loyalty to the land. You even talk about a return in the future, but you chose to leave the REALM without its hereditary ruler. As Head of the Coterie, that was your choice to make, and our viewers are curious about why you made the choice you did.”
This time, Magnus glared so hard that the interviewer combusted like flash paper, leaving a pile of ash on the chair.
“Ten-minute break,” declared the production manager.
“No,” said Magnus. “This interview is over.”
It was a short flight on bat-wings through the velvet night, back to the Transylvanian hotel room the show had provided. Magnus found his travelling companion stretched out on the bed, seductively. “How did it go?” she asked.
“I don’t think I gave them any usable footage,” said Magnus, wearily. “I probably made them regret asking me here at all.”
“Join me in bed.” She swirled her finger in a circle on the satin sheet. “I’ll make your troubles go away.”
“That’s like offering to make my skin go away.”
“Shed your garments, shed your troubles, shed your skin too, if you’d like. Why am I here if not to unburden you?”
Magnus sat on the bed and allowed the lady vampire to loosen his collar and massage his back. “They asked me about the future,” he told her. “They said it would be my fault if Wordler Village can never be set back the way it was before.”
“Your fault?” She laughed. “Not the Word Wizard? Not the Gray Lady? Not the QUEEN?”
“I played a part. You can’t deny that. But did I make the wrong choice?” Magnus wondered aloud.
She put her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “You were ablaze in confidence when we arrived, and they’ve made you into a puddle of self-doubt. I could have told you this would happen. They’re a bunch of blood-sucking parasites.”
Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Vampires?”
“The media.” She pulled him down to the bed and nibbled his pointy ear with her fangs. “I dub thee Wordler 401. You will be my Champion, always and eternally. Now go forth and find me a suitable Word to seal our bond.”
“As you wish, My QUEEN,” he replied.
Web3 Draft:
- Listed on OpenSea
- Listed on Rarible
- Pinned to IPFS
Revision Notes:
To be added.
