The Romanian Throne

While cleaning out her grandmother's attic, Eliza finds a box of old letters. "Mum, did you know about these?" she asks, holding up a faded envelope.

“Oh yes, dear. The Romanian Prince. Your grandmother strung him along for nearly 30 years. He tried to scam her, but she flipped the script, like you kids say.” “Um, mom, no one says that.” “Anyway darling daughter, I think he truly loved her after the first decade of letters.”

Mother went on for hours about how grandma met grandpa, describing their first kiss in creepy detail & even describing the honeymoon hotel. "But mom," I said, "doesn't this mean I'm a Romanian princess?!" She waved off my question as if it didn't matter: "Princess-schmrincess..."

"It's the love that's important, not your stupid status." She said dreamily, still engrossed in the story. But I had different ideas. If grandpa was really a Romanian prince...I had a shot at the Romanian throne. Or I did as long as I eliminated all the other candidates.

Before she could know what was going on, I lean over and sink my fangs into her neck, drinking deeply. As good as she had been to me, I could not allow her to get in the way. The scammers have wronged us for long enough. I shall regain the legacy of my ancestors.