The Crimson resigned behind a set of cruel, curled iron gates; it was hidden between two stray apartment blocks, tucked into the shadows of the dirty London streets. Most passerbys assumed it was abandoned: no one went in, no one went out. The only stheign that anyon lived in those black, run down flats was the odd coppery smell that wafted out of the alleyway alongside second-hand cigarette smoke.

The locals knew what it was, no not those who lived in the blocks nearby, it was only the true residents. Those who lived in the Crimson knew the place inside and out. They knew everyone who had ever lived there and everyone who still did… That was because no one ever left.

The true gem of the place, the Crimson’s pride and joy and it’s best kept secret. It wasn’t the citizens, it wasn’t the decor. What was it? Sânge's.

It was the source of the crowd within the alleyway, why crowds of people flocked there. It was older than you could imagine,and it was run by the most respected woman there. It provided jobs and it provided a servic.

‘To whom?’ You may ask.

To vampires of course!