The Truth of the Living Vampire
Forget what you think you know. Forget the tales spun to comfort you, the fanged caricatures designed to make you believe that we are nothing more than fiction. The world has spent centuries burying our truth beneath layers of myth, dressing us up in absurdity to make us seem unreal. They tell you we burn in the sun, that we recoil from holy symbols, that we can be slain by a sharpened stick. They give you ways to fight us in your stories, to give you the illusion of control.
But here is the truth: there is no escape.
We are not the undead, nor are we creatures bound to crypts and cursed tombs. We are alive, more so than any human could ever claim to be. We walk among you, hidden in plain sight, blending seamlessly into your world. You pass us in the streets, brush shoulders with us in crowded rooms, speak to us without ever realizing what stands before you. We are the shadow in your periphery, the whisper in the dark, the presence you feel but cannot explain.
A true vampire does not crave blood alone. That is the simplest and most primitive form of sustenance, but our hunger goes deeper—far deeper. We do not merely drink; we consume. We devour. We strip you of more than flesh and fluid—we take your essence, your will, your very soul. You call it life force, spirit, energy. To us, it is power, and it is ours for the taking.
We are not the creatures of your fables. Those stories are for the weak, designed to keep you blind to the reality lurking just beyond your understanding. You think a wooden stake could stop us? You believe that uttering a prayer could keep us at bay? How fragile, how foolish. We are not spirits bound by old curses or monsters undone by superstition. We are something far worse—something that cannot be banished, cannot be contained, cannot be stopped.
You believe yourselves strong. Independent. Free. But your arrogance blinds you to the truth: you are prey. You always have been. From the moment you were born, you were marked, unknowingly bound to a world that does not belong to you. You are cattle, bred to feed something far greater than yourselves. You work, you suffer, you breed, you die. And in the end, you become ours.
We do not waste flesh. We do not waste souls. A vampire does not simply feed—we claim. A mortal’s greatest weakness is their belief that they are in control. They fight, they struggle, they convince themselves that their choices are their own. But we know the truth: control is an illusion, and nothing is easier to break than the mind of a human. Fear is the first taste, submission the final surrender. Once we have you, there is no escape.
Some of you we take quickly—those who interest us for nothing more than the momentary pleasure of the hunt. Others, we linger over. We press into your thoughts, weave into your dreams, slip into the quiet corners of your reality until you no longer know where we begin and you end. And when you have nothing left to give, when your will has been stripped and your soul hollowed out, we leave nothing behind. You were never yours to begin with.
And what of those who claim to be like us? The ones who dress in darkness, who stain their lips red and whisper ancient words they do not understand? They are a joke. Pretenders. Sheep dressed in the skins of wolves, bleating their false claims into the abyss, hoping it will answer. They do not know what it means to hunger, to need, to exist in a state of eternal craving that no mortal pleasure could ever satisfy. They amuse us, these children who think themselves gods, these insects who speak of power as if they have ever tasted it.
But the abyss does not play games. It does not tolerate the weak. And when the true ones come calling, these pretenders learn quickly that the darkness they worship is not kind.
We are the ones who watch from the unseen places, the ones who move in silence, in hunger, in dominance. We are the reason you fear the dark. The reason your breath quickens when you feel something behind you, though nothing is there. The reason you wake in the middle of the night, paralyzed, unable to move, unable to scream, feeling a presence so heavy it crushes the very air from your lungs.
We are the nightmare that does not end. The terror that does not fade.
And you?
You are nothing.
A rabbit does not need to believe in the wolf to feel its throat between its teeth.
And make no mistake—we are always hungry.
