My Drinking Problem
The crux of the matter, really, is that drinking blood not only allows me to perpetuate my existence, but also provides a sensation unlike anything else this world has to offer. What is it like? My dear, words cannot describe it. Imagine drinking the finest champagne and the sensation of the most sensual lovemaking you've ever experienced. Overlay that that with the rush the opium fiend feels as he takes that first breath on the pipe, and you begin to have some sense, some tiny, infinitesimal sense of what it feels like to drink the blood of a kine - excuse me, a living human being. Your modern-day addict will lie, steal, cheat and kill for their little tickets to Heaven. Mine is better, and it makes me immortal besides. Can you imagine the deeds I might commit to feed that hunger? Don't bother speaking possibilities; the truth than you can imagine. And I am considered to be a gentleman of my kind. Now imagine, if you will, some of my relatives, the ones who aren't so nice as I.
They can - and do - commit acts that even I don't wish to consider.
And here you are, poor little mortal, learning how fragile your whole existence is.
Are you starting to be afraid yet? You should be.
