A Horst prompt for you: something with cake, possibly during his childhood? Or perhaps after the whole vampirism incident, when they're no longer edible or taste like ash or however one chooses to interpret a vampire's relationship with food.
Horst Cabal, the vampire, looked at a small squashed cake. It was a cream-filled vanilla article from one of the concession stands. He’d been escorting a lady, and it seemed more companionable to get one for each of them. She’d eaten hers, and he’d taken a few mouthfuls from her behind the ghost train, and then she’d suddenly felt tired. He’d escorted her back to the gates. She was safer away from all this.
The carnival was strange. He sat on the roof of the train and watched it from a distance. The May night was cool, but it didn’t bother him. It was a revelation to be out of the tomb, to talk to real people and feel the air on his face, but the workers smelled of brimstone and sulphur: the zombies of rot. The only beating heart on the train was his brother’s. He could hear it now, thudding sullenly in the office.
Horst had blood, at least, but it was a pleasure that blotted out everything else, and that worried him. He distracted himself with the work of the carnival. He’d made a promise - to Johannes, but still. It kept him from thinking about blood all day. He watched the crowds mill through the carnival from his perch, temporarily above it all. He should be down there, welcoming people, watching the hell-things.
He broke off a corner of the cake, put it in his mouth. He spat it out. Oh! It was like eating sand soaked in perfume; repulsive. He moved to throw the cake away, but he stopped; he was reluctant. He couldn’t eat it, but he still wanted it. What was he going to do, keep the thing in his pocket? He pushed it off the edge of the train. He heard it hit the ground. It wasn’t important.