"Perhaps I may be of assistance," said Sid the Werewolf from the oriel window.
Smeralda started from the mirror. She had been watching her tears trace trails down the thick layer of unblusher. "Oh!" she gasped. "Who are you?"
"Call me Sid," the werewolf said. "You know me. I daylight as the town constable."
"What are you doing here?"
"I thought I heard a she-wolf in heat."
"Oh." Smeralda was nonplussed.
"May I come in?" said Sid through clenched fangs.
"I don't see what's stopping you," Smeralda said.
"Don't I need to be invited into the threshold of a vampire's household?" grunted Sid.
"I think you have got it backwards, Sid, but do come in," replied Smeralda.
Sid slid from his precarious perch on the oriel window down the tallest turret's side, his claws snapping and crackling on the rough hewn stone brick wall.
"Aargh," he growled, pulling himself towards the window painful inch after painful inch. Baleful moonlight illuminated the individual hairs of his back as they flowed and rippled above his flexing muscles.
"Honey!" Mr Dracula's voice called from below. "Come see what I have done with the vegetables!"
When Smeralda didn't answer, he cried, "I have made a vegetable man! Legs of celery, a torso of potato, and a tomato noggin penetrated by a carrot nose and mushroom ears! A sprinkling of cilantro for hair!"
When she still didn't answer, he cried, "Now that there little gent of root, rhizome, stalk, and fruit is looking about as appealing as a man of flesh and blood!" Smeralda cocked her head as a strangled cry of frustration echoed from below.
Sid pulled himself into the alcove. Smeralda watched Sid as he lay panting in a pool of sweat that was being quickly absorbed by the fine Arabian rug. The mangy cur smelled downright musky, but there was something about him, Smeralda thought. Perhaps he was something she could love. She had loved uglier. She shook the thought away and resumed work with the fang filer.
She realized Sid was looking at her with a sorrowful expression. "You know," he started, "all this vampire and werewolf animosity is just a vast Hollywood conspiracy to cash in big."
"Oh God! I just bit into a garlic clove! Lord help me! Hey.. Yum. This isn't too bad. Smeralda, you really oughta try this!"
Suddenly Sid was at her throat, his rank breath hot and steamy on her nape. His teeth tickled her exposed trachea. "It's not a good idea to marry into a midlife crisis," he advised. Warm strings of drool arced outward with each syllable to slap against her lobe.
"She was taken, smitten by the big brute who had enveloped her entire neck with his impressive oscitancy, to despoil its fine velour with his breath. Our heroine mustered up all the strength she could find and managed a weak, feeble, 'N-no, d-don't.' In fact, it was a coy move on her part, as she was actually quite fearless and is very capable of severing his neck from his head and his torso in one fell swipe."
"What's that?" ask Sid.
"'I narrate when I'm a nervous nellie,' she replied, gently pushing him away. 'I am betrothed to be married, and I love the vucking fool.' Smeralda stepped aside and showed Sid her fangs as she descended the spiral staircase, knowing very much how the slow motion of her gluteus maximus stoked an urge within the beastly werewolf to sink his teeth into them."
"You're still here, Smeralda."
"So I am."
"No, I was wrong! The garlic's killing me! I ate too much! Is that supposed to swell?!"
"Come with me," urged Sid Smeralda towards the window with a gesture of his bent and cracked claws.