"Bleak despair in tones of black and pearl. Lights go out. Darkness falls, bringing us. We are vampires, children and lords of the darkness. We wander over the moonlit world, in the toils of our thirst. Fear-encircled, we spread the fear. Thirsty for blood, we want to drink your life and to sow the dark with the aid of our thoughts. For ever young, for ever beautiful, alien, quick and strong—not omnipresent yet omniscient—no reflections, no shadows—lightly moving, the night vigil of oblivion, we send nightmares, and Luna, Greek Selene admires us. Oblivion is at the threshold of the hagridden mortals. The gentle bite—the sweet taste of blood. We're thirsty. There is no use of crying. Acquiesce. Noctules, nosferatus—pallid faces, icy hearts, shining eyes—maybe dead, maybe alive, yearning for a sweet prey—languorous, sometimes sad—we wander in the moonlight. Vampires, children and lords of the dark. Lonely amid you." (from La Arme Blanche, by Lara Biyuts)