Fluids feed us, true enough, but not all rely upon the claret for sustenance.
Divergent breeds born with differing needs; consequently, some thirst for more…eclectic refreshment. The Lachrymose relish the taste of tears, breaking a heart or an arm before a feast. A Perspiration Prince favours the flavours of an athlete’s fresh armpit, whereas some poor suckers simply sup upon the seed of a man.
Myself?
All that is required is one fleeting glimpse of my true countenance. The sight of such delights and everyone soon feels the lukewarm tickling trickle of fear.
It’s a piece of piss, really.
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