Lord of Blood, cape swirling in the eternal wind, ruler of the night. Style, substance and a widow’s peak.

Styled after the bloodsuckers of old, in reality a creature from out of nightmares and the infinite horrors held in the dark. Green lightning, a creepy castle, a melodramatic monolougue.

Say all you want for the torture of innocents, fear is a better substitute and less likely to have an iron stake driven through my hearts, releasing the smog of my veins. Style is everything and removing all hope from lesser beings is not what we need.

This brings me at odds with the others, the ones that lead and the ones that follow blindly, the one that bridges and the pair of Ice. They accuse me of conspiracy, siding with the enemy and other treasonous crimes.

It is better to be feared and respected for fair play and style than to be feared and loathed for murdering dissidents in their beds.

I might look like a vampire, but the reality is far worse.