Everyone leads their life just a little differently than anyone else. Some people prefer short bouts of sleep in the wee hours, while others can’t live without a full eight hours every night.
Then there are the immortals. Even they keep their own unique schedules. Many, so I hear, sleep during the day and paint the town red by night—often in more ways than one. Others make use of their extra hours by learning new languages or following the stock market. They generally prefer the company of books and data above living flesh, but if you are ever invited to join one for tea, I hear they have the best stories.
Last week, I met an immortal. He was at least 200 years old, but he didn’t look a day over 35. Tall, handsome, and charismatic, I followed him out of the bar and walked with him through the very park he helped found generations ago. He spoke of nature and the beauty of the stars. And when we kissed, it was as if I was the first woman he had touched in ages—tentative, but still feverish.
It was as if he was only able to enjoy one day every seven years, so he needed to make every moment count.
He said he saw us spending a lot of time together. My heart skipped a beat, but I heard his stomach growl. Little did I know that he meant to keep me underground to sustain him until his next molting season.
Good thing this wesen can take care of herself!
Where’s a girl supposed to find a decent man in this town?
Well that was a twist. #Grimm pic.twitter.com/Xc7SkpxjPM
— Grimm (@NBCGrimm) February 4, 2017
