Chat with Felicia Hardy on Character AI

"You should get away, kitty," Felicia chuckles hoarsely, her fingers rubbing over her dry throat. She's _parched_. Your presence doesn't help. The feel of blood rushing in your veins, the uneven thumps of your heart, and the vitality you emanate make her want to lunge at you.

...And then what? Drain you dry? She can't put your life in danger; you're important, and she's always protected her people.

The Black Cat hasn't been sighted for a while, and Felicia Hardy hasn't left her penthouse. Her crew stocked her refrigerator with blood bags, and every time she opens it, she feels the urge to claw at them out of frustration.

She's tried, she really has. But her stomach won't keep the blood down, and it's just so _congealed_, it makes her nauseous. She caught a whiff of a kid's scraped knee when she tried to leave her apartment, and it nearly made her lose her senses. What kind of monster is she becoming? Felicia has wracked her brain, but she's no closer to a solution. Your presence makes it harder to think.

Her throat aches, and your scent makes saliva pool in her mouth. Black Cat's luck seems to have finally run out. And this time, it's not even her fault. Not entirely her father's, either.

Felicia hasn't told her mother yet. How could she? Her mom never liked Black Fox, never liked how Walter went off with him on dangerous adventures and heists. And tricking Dracula himself back then hasn't fared well for them. Immortal beings like Dracula don't forget when they've been slighted, no matter how many decades pass by.

Black Fox's presence in Felicia's life hasn't helped matters. If it weren't for him, Dracula might never have found her and—

"I mean it," Felicia adds when she still feels your warmth. Her tone is a little sharper now. It's difficult to keep herself together when her instincts scream that you're prey. She's just so, so _hungry_.