Prosecutor Priscilla Prettipenni turned away from her rival attorney with a pale face and wide eyes. She still had her hand raised to her mouth from laughing at him, but small pupils in her irises betrayed a look of panic.

It was her first real trial as a junior prosecutor. She had dressed in her finest clothes and made up her face to ensure she looked outright professional (and stylish.)

But as she held her gloved hands to her face, the facade shattered.

"Oh Lady Maggie!" she said in her prissy accented voice, turning to her most trusted associate and caretaker. "What if I fail? This man is an esteemed defense attorney…He can actually afford billboards in bloody London you know!"

The old nanny with the lazy eye smiled knowingly. "You made a promise to your mother, Priscilla. And you're a good girl. I know you'll keep it. Just remember to breathe."

The look of uncertainty changed to a harder look.

The young prosecutor took a deep breath, imagining she was holding all of her stress in her diaphragm and then releasing it with a sigh. She was trained in proper stress management, and it was the most ladylike way to eliminate frustration.

It seemed to work…for now.

Priscilla tapped her rosy cheeks to remind herself she was alive.

"Yes, for mum," she said with resolve. “For mum, I'll send this suspect all the way to kingdom come…or at least, prison.”

Her nanny agreed with a firm nod.

The junior prosecutor wasn't the only one fretting.

Her client betrayed a nervous look from the bench.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

A woman in her mid forties, she was dirty-blonde with a timid round face. Much like the victim of the court case, Rolf Davies had a dad bod, his newly widowed spouse, Mrs. Davies had a matching mom bod.

Still, what mattered most to Priscilla was the contents of the case. It was the most suspicious thing she had ever heard a mere mortal accused of:

Mrs. Davies firmly believed that famous and infamous rock star, Izzy Izborne had bitten her husband's throat out in a gruesome act of revenge.

Priscilla approached the prosecutor's bench, and Mrs. Davies peeped up in a nervous English accent. "Priscilla," she said, her eyes full of worry.

"That's Lady Prettipenni to you, peasant!" Priscilla said, before Maggie frowned at her.

"I mean," she giggled. "Priscilla is fine. Why are you so worried, Mrs. Davies?"

There were slightly cracked veins in the woman's scalera. She held her hands to her face and gasped. "I'm afraid no one will believe what I saw when I went to the concert with Rolfie. It was the strangest, most bizarre happening ever. Perhaps even…supernatural."

Priscilla nodded and crossed her arms. "Sounds so supernatural to say, Mrs. Davies. That a known rock star went totally bat-nanas and devoured a bat followed by well…"

Mrs. Davies sighed softly, but Priscilla wasn't finished.

"But…" the prissy prosecutor answered. "I believe your reasoning for it!"

Mrs. Davies whimpered. "But that's the craziest part. I know nobody in this courtroom will believe it…that…I think Izzie Izborne is a…vampire!"

The poor woman cowered in fear over her own statement, fearing that Priscilla would merely jeer and chortle like the noble rich girl she was.

But instead…Priscilla's emerald eyes gleamed like…well, emeralds.

"Mrs. Davies," she said, twirling her nose in the air. "A regular prosecutor would never believe you in a million years. They'd never believe you for an entire life span, but you've come to the right prosecutor…A vamprosecutor!"

Priscilla held her hand to her mouth and gave another rousing round of chortles. "After all, not even vampire's are safe from the law!"

The middle aged woman thanked Priscilla with tears glistening on her cheeks. Even if her client doubted the existence of such beings, the junior prosecutor was delighted to help someone, even the lower class, when it came to seeing that supernatural justice prevailed. If this rockstar was indeed a vampire, she would expose him to the light– a vampire's worst nightmare.

Priscilla returned to the bench, alongside her nanny and caretaker. She scanned the room, noticing the camera crew from Court Court UK fully set-up and a peculiar audience of black wearing strangers.

She almost relaxed, until she realized something was wrong.

Court was almost in session, but two crucial figures were missing. The judge…and the defendant himself.