When I'm Writing, The Darkness

I Was A Newborn Vampire, Weeping At The Beauty Of The Night.

Would That Death Were Like This. Would That One Would Sleep And Sleep And Sleep Forever.

When We Are Weary, We Speak Lovingly Of Dreams As If They Embodied Our True Deisres-what We Would Have When That Which We Do Have So Sorely Disappoints Us

Mortal Beauty Often Makes Me Ache, And Mortal Grandeur Can Fill Me With That Longing...but Paris, Paris Drew Me Close To Her Heart, So I Forgot Myself Entirely. Forgot The Damned And Questing Preternatural Thing That Doted On Mortal Skin And Mortal Clothing. Paris Overwhelmed, And Lightened And Rewarded More Richly Than Any Promise.

The Truth Is Most Women Are Weak, Be They Mortal Or Immortal. But When They Are Strong, They Are Absolutely Unpredictable.