The vampire looked so bored. He raised his heavy lids and stared blankly into the distance. With the paper-white hand that rested on the damp bench, he flicked off some debris from the tree above. His aroma was heady, it wasn't like raw meat or festering flesh, but instead it was like a summer garden, as if he lay in a bed of petals each night. In his hand was a piece of paper, neatly folded, with writing that was like the script on old scrolls. He sighed softly, putting it away. It is even said that they can find no rest in the grave, but return to their former haunts long after they are believed to be dead. Those whom they visit, however, pine away for no apparent reason. The physicians shake their wise heads and speak of consumption. But sometimes, people's suspicions were aroused.
A smell had taken over Daiyuke’s primary sense. He no longer cared what people looked like, it was their aroma that counted. From across the street he could detect the sugar levels of a person's blood. An uncontrolled diabetic was like walking candy, he could tell them how "sweet" they were as he led them to the closest place he could dine undisturbed. In his human life, he had been handsome, but back when his blood was warm there were no such things. He always called his victims "my lady" and walked on their right side to keep his sword arm free. His manners were charming despite being both archaic and redundant. Yet each time he bowed a little and raised, the girls followed him.
He shook off the smell to his best ability. Compared to his old days, he worked less and less to feed on humans. Instead, he’d drop a specific pill into a glass of water which would then turn to blood he could consume. Day in and day out it was a constant struggle of not breaking.