“Here it is.” Amilie handed the apple to Mathieu. He eyed her carefully. Florence shoved a piece of the apple into Guillaume’s open mouth. Instantly, his color, or rather the small amount of pigment a vampire has, returned to his ashen face.
Amilie fingered her apple behind her back. Should I? She asked herself over and over again.
“Mum!” Guillaume’s eyes opened. “Florence! Mathieu! Amilie!” He wrapped with tongue around each of the names thoughtfully. Everyone gathered closer to him. Except for Amilie. Her thoughts of biting the apple had become stronger, separating her from the others.
“Amilie?” Guillaume asked again. She dropped the apple, and everyone gasped.
“It didn’t mean to…” Amilie bit her lip. It was not sweet with the taste of the apple. It rolled, unbitten under the couch.
“Just so long as you didn’t bite it.” Mathieu growled.
“Why not?” She raised her chin impudently.
“Unless you wish to die, do even think of biting that thing.”
“Oh? And you can?” Her defiance grew.