A strange feeling. Not like Armand's sifting, sand tasted through fingers, observed but not understood. Nor like Louis' no-frills precision. Unique like personalities. What an odd thing to be able to notice. It really is a whole other world, this unlife.

"I've got a history."

Flippant. About meeting vampires and then getting almost murdered. We do have fun here. The fun is either: I am so insufferable, it's not actually that dramatic to think someone would murder me. Or perhaps: I'd continue to find it hot.

Or both!

(A blink of memory. Sitting on a stone floor, looking at rocks.)

"Well, you know. My raw animal magnetism. How's the Pixel feeling?"