Cohost writing prompt: @Making-up-Monsters — Monster who is making you get out of your nice, warm, comfy bed
"I cannot get that," Oksana says sepulchrally, when whoever's at the door knocks again, louder. "I am accurséd creature of the night. Phoebus' radiance will not suffer me to show my face."
"That's a lie, Oksana," Kim mutters, peeling her face out of the pillow. "I've seen you answer the door at summer noon when you think it's a parcel for you." She slides her feet into her slippers, grimacing as she lightly touches the deep-bruised marks on her neck, and then nearly falls when she tries to stand. "Fffffuuuuuuhhhh— I'm fine."
"Lie back down," Oksana says. "I get it," and before Kim can try, more carefully, to stand again, she's sailed out of the room.
"I'm fine," Kim tells the ceiling, which is not spinning but might, if she's honest, be wavering a little.
Oksana is gone a long time, and Kim is woozily skimming the edge of sleep when the vampire glides back into the room with a tray.
"Lunch," Oksana announces firmly.
"What's this?"
"Steak, sautéed spinach, grilled potatoes. Orange juice."
"You know," Kim tells the ceiling, "the spinach-iron thing is a myth stemming from a misplaced decimal point."
"Anaemic bitch who falls over does not get to sass the cook," Oksana says. "Also, if you don't eat and stop having complexion of snowman, I have to cut you off sex until you recover."
Kim scoffs, because whose fault is it that Oksana can't keep her teeth out of her, exactly, and sits up against the pillows to take the tray. "Thank you," she says, as ungratefully as possible. "Who was at the door?"
"Jehova's Witnesses," Oksana says, in a tone that suggests Kim shouldn't ask any more questions.