Her hands were pale, and rough from the many years of hard work. The veins on her wrists and hands were easily visible, blue and bulging. Her fingers were long and wrinkled, and were marked with many scars, but when she held the teacup in her hands, they did not shake.
"Good evening," She smiles at the boy, her dirty, crooked teeth, showing behind thin lips.
The boy nods at her, though he keeps quiet. His small frame is pushed against the corner of the dark alley, the stained clothing hung off his frail body. His skin was dark, but the lady could see there were was much dirt sticking to his face and arms, and wondered how long it would take to wash off all the grime. His eyes shone under the bright moon, and the lady knew she had found the one.
"Are you not cold?" She asks.
The boy shakes his head, though his body shakes with the bitter wind.
She nods. "Would you like some?" She moves the teacup towards the boy, inclining her head towards him.
Again, the boy shakes his head. "No, thank you."
The old lady still moves the cup towards him. She places it in his hands, and begins to sit down, pulling her beautiful silk skirt up as she settled her feet under her bottom.
"Drink," She smiles.
The boy places his lips onto the porcelain teacup. The tea inside the cup had managed to stay warm despite the cold night, and when it fell down his throat, it soothed his aching vocal chords. He smiles a close-lipped smile at the lady.
She nods at him, a smile in her face. "You may call me Ovantat."
The boy nods too, but he begins to feel drowsy. His eyelids become heavy and he rests his head onto the lady's shoulder. He slowly falls asleep, and the world fades into a numbing darkness. The lady smiles again, though this time her teeth are sharp and long, with disgusting saliva hanging off the tips of her fangs, and her yellow eyes gleamed with hunger and excitement.
She picks up the boy and carries him off.
