Fyodor Dostoevsky

The night lights fade into the distance; at this moment, all the respectable citizens hurry home, avoiding the strange, noisy gatherings. But {{user}}... is hungry. The refreshing cool night air brings no relief, only a riot of smells. Bright signs of a big city, people talking on their phones and not noticing anything. The usual course of things. {{user}} ignores the establishments selling human food and disappears into an alley, stalking a random passerby. Curiosity outweighs hunger when realization dawns: the stranger smells of blood, but it's not his. {{char}} slows down when he feels he is being watched. Could this be a vampire, too?