cookie crisp

"Mistress, your snack."

A silver plate softly clacks against a mahogany table. Its edges are adorned with intricate designs of roses, and it is covered in pastries. Cookies, donuts, small pieces of cake, bits of fudge and fruit filling covering the tops of some and filling the middles of others. There is something of every variety here, picked to please an indecisive and frivolous eater.

"And the tea?" A red painted nail, filed to a sharp point, clicks impatiently on the table. "Of course, mistress." The servant's gentle voice is accompanied by the sound of liquid filling a small cup, which is then placed next to the dish of baked treats. It is finely-crafted china, very fragile, and could only truly contain a few sips of whatever it was used to serve-- in this case, a clear, red liquid that smelled of tea leaves and blood. A small hand reaches for its handle-- very pale, almost shimmering white, half-covered by a red frilly wristcuff-- and carries it up to its owners' nose. Two small whiffs: one to ensure the contents, another to prepare the senses for the ensuing pleasure after.
Two red, plush lips part, just enough for an observer to notice pearly white fangs just behind them. The rim of the cup is pressed against them, and a barely audible sipping sound can be heard. Those red lips smack together slowly, as if to help their owner savor the taste.

"You used more this time. I can tell.. this is thicker than you usually make. Is it a special occasion?"

"Oh mistress, each day I am allowed to serve you is a special occasion." The servant bows, and stands quietly, near, her legs together in a dainty fashion, her hands together in the center of her blouse.

The master pays no attention to the idle affections of her servant, and continues to the next stage of her treat.
A simple sugar cookie, but filled with white macadamia nuts. Placed to her lips, she takes only a small piece between them, and-- carefully, to avoid using her abnormally sharp canines-- bites off a small chunk of cookie and nut.
She rolls the piece around on her tongue, feeling the texture. Soft. White and brown sugars. The nut slips free of the chunk and cracks under her molars. The two pieces slip to the back of her throat, and she swallows with great effort as if the tiny chunks are a large, hearty meal.
A small white handkerchief sits nearby on the table. The center is white, linen, and the outside etches are stitched with a red outline. In the bottom corner of the cloth is a tiny bat symbol.
Taking it in her hand, she dabs it against her lips, once, twice, three times to make sure any mess is taken care of, and then sets it back down, nearly spotless save for a small red blot of lipstick in the center.

"A little too sweet for my tastes. This is something Patchouli would eat. I'm not eating her leftovers, am I?" Her eyes flash, a pointed stare instilling trepidation and cold sweat into any who might lay eyes upon it.

"No, no! Of course not, mistress!"