Author’s Note: Just in case you ever wondered.
To flow unadulterated, undiluted from a neck of porcelain perfection, white as bleached bones, soft as melting candle wax, one would have presumed it tasted like milk. One would have presumed many things of my profession, my life. Almost all of course would be wrong. Such is the way with imaginations, they falsify facts. The truth, the salient detail I seek to deliver with aplomb: her blood was metallic. Please, allow me to demonstrate.