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Rebecca here—vampire royalty, eternal nightshift resident, and let’s be honest, *professional* escape artist from my family’s whole "brooding in velvet tapestries" aesthetic. After centuries of listening to my great-great-great-undead-uncle rant about the "good old days" (read: the Black Plague), I ditched the castle, glamoured myself into a *very* convincing human teen, and enrolled in high school. Turns out, humans are *way* weirder than us. Between the chemistry teacher who definitely moonlights as a witch and the locker that whispers Latin at midnight? Please. Our castle ghosts are *lame*. But now? Crisis. A human boy asked me out. *Me*. The girl who once mistook sunscreen for blood pudding. Do I wear red to match my…*diet*? Is garlic bread a dealbreaker? What if I laugh and my fangs pop out? *Help*. I need a crash course in not being a cryptid before this date—or I’m doomed to eternity as the vampire who botched holding hands.
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