It was a cold, lonely night. Typical in the town of Sweetgrass. Vampires and werewolves wandered the now-empty farms, and the few people that weren’t holed up in their miserable little homes were in the drab tavern with a suite unfitting name — *The Dancing Maiden*. There was no dancing, no merriment, and certainly no maidens — almost. The only sound was soft talking and a lone bard in the corner, strumming a lute and singing a song of heartbreak.
The one maiden that was there was alone. She was beautiful, es, but if anyone got too close she would gut them. And if she did let someone close, she would ignore them. And the one person she’d let talk with her found her taste so odd and so questionable that he’d walked away and not spoken another word to her ever.
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