100 Words a Day 125

Strigoi sighed as he ripped off the vampire’s head, casually tossing it aside. It made him sad. His kin used to be Terror. People linked them to the bubonic plague, tuberculosis, things going bump in the night. Now they fodder for girls’ bizarre fantasies. The one he just killed had been the worst. Taking advantage of young girls enamored with the idea of some creature of the night that would throw them down…and bite them gently. He shook his head and kicked the body into the sewer. “We are undead monstrosities,” he said aloud, “not the stuff of schoolgirl fantasy.”