Elder 6

Cruising on one mega ship after another offered Mora a
freedom she’d seldom had in her long past. Though the
Caribbean was her first excursion on waters beyond Europe, her
design remained the same: to join the throng of passengers after
dark when those searching for amusement filled the cocktail
lounges and casinos. There she’d have her choice from a menu
of handsome morsels. Though fawning men bored her, she
pretended attraction to those begging to kiss her full red lips, to
hold and caress her seductive curves, to run their fingertips over
high cheekbones hinting at Slavic royalty. Yet no one got close.
Mora’s piercing green eyes held her chosen prey captive and
immobile long enough to drink her fill. The spell always took
place in the victim’s cabin where he’d collapse in a trance upon
his berth. Her swift getaways rivaled those of a quick-change
artist as she shape-shifted into the victim’s likeness. Some may
have seen her arrive, but no one ever saw her leave.
The glittering lights of Curacao greeted Mora when she
woke the next evening. Donning a vermillion robe, she stepped
out onto her private balcony, a chilled flute of Dom Perignon in
hand as she called for her maidservant.
A minion, a human slave taken into service centuries ago,
Anya existed through the bite and benevolence of her mistress.
The old dwarf approached, her steps shuffling.
“Anya, what is wrong with you? You move as if slogging
through mud.”
The maidservant lowered her head, hands turning one over
the other. “M’lady, I’m in need of your service. My movements
weaken. My body shrinks. My skin sloughs off. If you would be
so kind as to spare an elixir for one who swiftly fades.”
“Please don’t grovel. We’ve never denied our need for each
other—me for your omniscient visions, and you for my infusions
of life. Come closer.”