Seaside Moors in russia tragedy, everybody die

Stenderds had seen better days. The weight of pregnancies had bowed her back and a summer coat had no hope in hell of masking the scars, broad and numerous as they were. Two perfectly formed ears had been reduced to one and some kind of shredded third, and 6 years of scowling had elevated said scowl to something beyond sour.

But Vlad recognized her immediately, warts and all, and felt warm.

He didn't say that, of course - Vlad was a man on a mission. He sat, crinkled his face like a bad smell had wafted in on the ocean breeze, and announced: "You fett."