MY SUGAR MUMMY IS A BEAUTIFUL VAMPIRE

*****This was supposed to be for the other book!

As the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, Nebula emerged from the kitchen, a warm, sweet aroma wafting around her. She carried a tray laden with freshly baked cookies, their golden-brown edges promising a perfect blend of crisp and chewy.

"George," she called out, her voice tinged with satisfaction, "come help me with these, will you?"

George appeared from the living room, his nostrils flaring slightly at the enticing smell. "Those smell amazing," he admitted, reaching for one.

Nebula swatted his hand away playfully. "Ah-ah, not yet. Let's get everything sorted first. We've got to store the wine you brought out from the trunk and a few things to organize upstairs."

Together, they made their way to the kitchen. George opened the refrigerator door, and Nebula began handing him bottles of wine one by one.

"So," George began, carefully arranging the bottles, "about this whole vampire thing... How am I supposed to, you know, blend in with normal people?"

Nebula chuckled softly. "Normal is a relative term, George. But I understand your concern. It'll take some adjusting, but you'll find ways to adapt. For instance, you'll need to be mindful of your strength. Humans are more fragile than you might realize now."

George nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration as he absorbed this information. "And what about food? Can I still eat regular meals?"

"You can," Nebula replied, handing him the last bottle. "But like I said earlier, it won't sustain you. Think of it more as... maintaining appearances. And perhaps enjoying the taste, if that's still something you find pleasure in."

They moved upstairs, Nebula directing George as they organized various items she had brought - books on vampire lore, and a few mystical-looking artifacts

As they worked, George's mind whirled with questions. "Nebula, how long have you been... involved with vampires? You seem to know so much."

Nebula paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Longer than you might imagine, George. Witches and vampires have a complex history. We've been allies, enemies, and everything in between over the centuries."

George's eyes widened at the casual mention of centuries, but before he could inquire further, Nebula clapped her hands together.

"Oh! I almost forgot," she exclaimed. "There's one more thing I need to give you. It's at the backseat of my car. Come with me"

They made their way downstairs and out to the driveway where Nebula's bentley sat. The evening had fully settled in now, the streetlights casting a soft glow over the neighborhood.

Nebula opened the back door of her car and reached inside, emerging with a plain cardboard carton. She handed it to George, her expression serious.

"Don't open this until you're back inside," she instructed. "It's... well, let's just say it's essential for your new dietary needs."

George nodded, understanding dawning in his eyes. He held the carton carefully, as if it might explode at any moment.

Nebula smiled softly, placing a hand on his arm. "You'll be alright, George. This is a lot to take in, I know. But you're stronger than you realize. I'm leaving now, don't miss me too much" she said with a playful wink.

"Haha, you wish!" George playfully responded as he watched Nebula get into her car and drove away. The taillights disappeared around a corner, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the mysterious carton.

George walked back inside and settled onto the couch, eyeing the carton with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Following Nebula's instructions, he carefully opened it, revealing a smaller box nestled inside. As he lifted the lid, his breath caught in his throat. Rows of bottles, their contents a deep, rich red, stared back at him. Blood. His sustenance now.

George ran a hand through his hair, his mind reeling. "So this is my life now," he murmured to himself. "Drinking blood from bottles like some kind of... vampire juice box."

He chuckled darkly at his own joke, but the sound died quickly in the stillness of the house. His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the spotless surfaces and neatly arranged furnitures. It was clean, just as it had always been when Carmen was alive.

A bittersweet memory washed over him, transporting him back to a sunny Saturday morning not so long ago:

*"George, you missed a spot!" Carmen's laughter rang out as she pointed to a dusty corner.

He'd feigned offense, brandishing his feather duster like a sword. "I'll have you know, Mrs. Morgan, that I am a master of the domestic arts!"

Carmen had raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh really? Then I suppose you won't mind tackling the bathroom next?"

George had groaned dramatically, but he couldn't keep the smile from his face. "Only if I get a reward afterward," he'd said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

She'd swatted him playfully with her cleaning cloth. "Finish your chores first, mister. Then we'll talk about rewards."

They'd spent the rest of the morning cleaning side by side, stealing kisses between tasks and filling the house with the sound of their laughter and love.*

The memory faded, leaving George with a hollow ache in his chest. He looked around at the pristine room, realizing with a start that it had been Nebula who had restored order to his chaotic life.

"A stranger," he muttered, a mix of gratitude and embarrassment coloring his tone. "It took a complete stranger to clean up the mess I'd become."

He stood up abruptly, pacing the room as his thoughts tumbled over one another. The weight of everything that had happened in the past few days pressed down on him - the witches' attack, his transformation, the revelation of a hidden supernatural world existing alongside the one he'd always known.

"I can't keep living like this," George said aloud, his voice gaining strength. "Vampire or not, I need to get back to my life. My real life."

He glanced at the calendar on the wall, noting with surprise that it was Sunday evening. Tomorrow was Monday – a workday.

"Work," he breathed, a flicker of normalcy igniting in his chest. "I need to resume work."

George's mind raced as he formulated a plan. "Okay, first things first. I need fresh clean clothes. Can't show up to the office looking like I've been through hell... even if I have."

A nagging thought tugged at the back of his mind. "But what about... the sun? Aren't vampires allergic to sunlight or something?"

He paused. "I'll have to ask Nebula to educate me more on that. There's got to be a way around it. Maybe... dark glasses, sunshades? A coat, an umbrella?"

The absurdity of the idea made him chuckle, but it quickly faded as the reality of his situation sank in once more.

"One step at a time," George murmured, resuming his task. "Get your clothes ready, show up to work, and figure out the rest as you go."

As he stood up to his room, George felt a spark of his old self returning. The grief that had consumed him for so long was still there, a dull ache in his heart, but it no longer threatened to overwhelm him completely.

"I'm not forgetting you, Carmen," he said softly, running his fingers over a framed photo of his late wife hung on the wall leading to his room. "But I need to be strong now. Brave. I need to face whatever this new life throws at me."

George was ready to prepare for his return to the world of the living – or at least, the world of gainful employment. A flicker of excitement mingled with his apprehension.

"Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, "I start living again."

But as he opened the door to his room and walked in, a chilling thought crept into his mind: What if he got hungry at work? What if the scent of his coworkers' blood became too much to bear?

With hands on his chin, George stared at the window as a new wave of anxiety washed over him. The road ahead, he realized, might be far more treacherous than he'd imagined.

He is caught between his determination to reclaim his life and the terrifying unknowns of his new vampiric nature. Tomorrow would be a test – of his willpower, his humanity, and perhaps most crucially, his ability to pass as a normal, living human in a world that had no idea of the supernatural forces at play.

George took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever the next day might bring.

"Here goes nothing," he murmured, as he walked up to his wardrobe to pick an outfit for the next day, bringing with it the promise - and the peril - of a fresh start.