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– But you don't know me at all! – I was surprised.

– Yes, we met only today, but I feel that you are nice. Believe me, I'm a good judge of character» Mary replied in a serious tone.

«Oh, Mary, how wrong you are this time!» – I thought, but I did not object to her persuasion.

– I am to have a parcel sent to me today, so I think I must go home at once» I said hastily.

– Then let's go! Let's quicken our step!

We walked briskly up Cowley Road, reached the turn into our alley, and suddenly Mary stopped.

– You know what? You go home and I'll go to the orphanage and talk to Reverend Charles. I need to find out when I can go to work» she said. – And don't worry about groceries, I'll stop at the supermarket on the way back. So what can I get you?

I thought about it: I didn't need human food, but I needed something to eat in Mary's eyes.

– I don't want to bother you with my problems. I'll buy it myself» I said, to discourage her from monitoring my diet.

The fact that Mary would make me have to mess around with human food I didn't need irritated me a little, but I was willing to put up with the inconvenience.

«What good timing she's leaving: she doesn't need to see my 'humanitarian aid!» – I thought with relief.

– 'Well, suit yourself, if anything, the supermarket is on the other side – you certainly won't miss it. Well, I'm off! I'll meet you at home! – Mary started to leave.

– I'll move my stuff out of your room! – I shouted after her.

– Your clothes are cool! – she shouted back at me.

That phrase made me frown: was she going through my stuff in her bedroom wardrobe? That's rather unpleasant…

I headed home.

By midday Cowley Road had become a torrent of everyday energy, with shop windows, pubs and cafes on both sides of the street, and I was fascinated by this new information landscape.

I liked Oxford from the first sight: such a cosy, warmly atmospheric town, and with insanely beautiful Gothic architecture coming from all sides. It was so numerous and varied that it would take at least three months of daily contemplation to see all its richness.

The sun was high in the sky, and the asphalt glistened dully under its probably warm rays: the people around me were dressed almost as warmly as I was, so I had not failed in my appearance.

And how many young faces there were around! Girls, guys, probably also students, walking on the pavement, sitting in cafes, chatting, cyclists passing by… And they were all looking at me. I could feel their eyes on me. And it was all the fault of my vampire beauty: I was tall, thin (not skinny, as Mary said), I had beautiful pale clear skin, beautiful nails, long, wavy golden hair that went down below my waist, big grey-blue eyes…

When I lived at home, I never thought about being very beautiful in human society. I had never appreciated my looks, and now this general admiration for them made me want to go home as soon as possible so that people would stop staring at me. It was an insanely burdensome feeling.

«How do my sisters stand it? It's so disgusting to cause everyone's attention!» – I thought grudgingly, lowered my gaze to the road, quickened my step, and tried to suppress the thought that I had become a show dog of an expensive breed.

«Who is that girl? I haven't seen her here before» I suddenly heard as I passed two young men. – «Probably a student. I wonder where she lives?» – replied another voice. – «I'm more interested in how she got here. Hardly with her brain» replied the first one to him.

Hearing this assumption, offensive to me and my intellect, I was greatly offended by these people.

«Wow, they think that if I'm pretty, then I'm not smart enough to get into Oxford on my own? Do all the people round here think the same?» – I thought with despair.

My beautiful mood was crushed: I walked towards home and thought only of bad things. My resentment would not go away: I was resentful of the many long hours I had spent studying at home. And self-education? I had worked so hard at it, sitting at my laptop all day long!

«People are horrible, stupid and narrow-minded! If it were up to me, I'd kill people like those guys in the first place! – I thought. – I'll have to ask Mary about what's going on with these people! Why the hell do they think I'm a stupid person?»

And then I realised why I hadn't noticed the attention before-Mary was occupying my thoughts, distracting me, and when she left, my mind turned to the world around me.

«My vampire hearing is the real enemy! Well, why am I hearing everything that's going on around me? It's just unbearable!» – I frowned.

Finally, I started to walk towards the house and my attention was caught by a man in a strange uniform knocking on the door of my house.

«It must be the postman! There's my parcel!» – I guessed and, quickening my step, I approached the postman.

– Good afternoon. Are you here to see me? – I asked him politely.

– I suppose I am. Are you Miss Misha Mroczek? – he asked with a smile.

– Absolutely, that's right. Do you need any supporting documents? – I walked up the stairs and opened the door.

– I would have given you the parcel anyway, but rules are rules» the man said, smiling good-naturedly.

– Then you'll have to wait until I find your passport.

I went into the house without inviting the postman in and found the passport. The postman looked at the document, made sure I wasn't deceiving him, gave me the passport and went down to his van to get the parcel.

When he walked into the hallway with a large box in his hands, I couldn't hold back a smile: how funny! A man helping me with the delivery of the blood of his own kin!

– Where should I put it? – He asked, with a flushed face: the box must have been very heavy.

– You can put it right here» I replied, pitying him.

– It's very heavy… I'm not sure that a girl so frail could lift it and carry it to another place. – He wouldn't let go of the box.

– Put it here, I don't live alone» I said insistently, so that the gallant man wouldn't stand like that.

The postman put the box on the floor with a clatter, gave me the papers to sign, wished me a pleasant day and left. I closed the door behind him, waited for his car to drive away from my house, and only then opened the box. In the box was a rectangular steel container with an interactive panel, and next to it was a note from my mum with the code to the lock. I entered the numbers and opened the lid: inside the container, in a thick mass of crushed ice, lay my «humanitarian aid» in the form of two-litre tomato juice packets. I counted them: eight bags in all, so I had sixteen litres of blood for the near future. Closing the lid, I carried the container into the kitchen, placed the 'juice' packets in the fridge and set the fridge temperature to four degrees centigrade.