The classroom only had a few students in it: four boys and five girls, each sitting on a stool in front of a canvas. They were positioned in a circle so they would have no way of looking at what each other were painting. The teacher, who went by the name of Madame Delores, Madam for short, stood in the center of the room holding nine paint brushes in her hand.

"Today we will discover the many emotions of the color red. Does anyone know any other names of red?" Madame spoke to the class, using her hands for attention. One of the girls raised her hand and spoke.

"Scarlet," the girl responded. This girl seemed like the art-experienced know-it-all, and no one else in the class would talk to her.

"Very good. Anyone else?" Madame said. Another girl raised her hand.

"Crimson," replied the girl. She was the social outcast. She only took the art class for "self-expression," or whatever people call it these days. "It's the color of blood."

Madam chuckled and folded her arms across her chest. She wore an apron with red paint all over it.

"Blood, you say? Blood is the color red. It can be crimson, scarlet, burgundy, or even ruby. Your assignment for today is to express emotions through your brushstrokes using only the color red. Red can be used for love, angst, depression—any kind of emotion, really. I want each of you to start painting without thinking. Once all the white of the canvas is gone, tell the class what your emotion was. Now begin!" Madame said as she gave everyone in the classroom a paintbrush.

On everyone's palette was a huge puddle of red. Madam had poured it on everyone's canvas before the class had started so it would not be a hassle for them to begin. Getting the colors out were a hassle for the students, so she would always set it up before the class began.

Of course the palette had tiny spots of black and white on it.

The students had begun to paint. Everyone started with the red paint. Madame was walking around the circle eyeing everyone's painting in progress. She would smile each time she saw the red paint.

After an hour, the students finished their paintings, using all of the red paint that their canvas contained. Madame pointed at one of the boys and he stood up, turning his canvas around to show the class.

"I think I felt pain in this painting. You can see the face gasping for breath with his eyes closed. I like it, I'm just confused on how thick the paint was," the boy told the class. Madame smiled, and the boy sat down.

The girl next to him stood up, but just when she was going to turn the painting around, the bell rang and everyone started to get up. Madame jumped in the middle of the circle.

"If you haven't signed your artwork, please do so! Have a wonderful weekend!"

The students left and it was only Madame and the paintings in the room. She walked around the room, stopping at each painting to realize what the painter was feeling. She stopped at one of the boys' paintings, which had the most obvious expression of love and sex. Madame smiled, touched the wet paint on the canvas and licked her finger.

"I'm having you for dinner tonight, Michael," Madame whispered to herself as her fangs began to grow. "Your blood is just what I need."