"It was upon a midnight dreary,
out in London, bleak and bleary,
when I stumbled upon a strange shop I had nary seen before.
In the skies crows flew a'flocking,
so I hastened, then, and knocking,
my fist rapped on wood and stone and then I opened wide the door.
Bottles of absinthe flowed,
my pale skin, soon, it did glow,
but someone paler and more glowing than I, a sight for eyes once sore,
once sore, now lost, and drowning in this sight he sat before,
A nameless man, beautiful - so his name I did implore
of the barmaid, who said so sweetly 'Francois'."
Arthur put down his fountain pen, and curled his toes, catching sight of his candlelit reflection in the mirror on the wall. The part of his neck that the vampire had marked was still very much a tender spot. It was red and sore, the wound deep...
The Londoner took up his pipe and filled it with sweet resin and tobacco, before lighting it.
Ah, sweet, sweet poppies...