The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

I. The Calling

Come closer, shade-spinner.
Let your breath frost the mirror,
Let your gaze linger too long
On your reflection…
So I may speak
Directly
To the rot behind your eyes.

You, who smile with serpent teeth,
Who clothe your cowardice in charm.
Yes you
Who dine with ghosts and pretend they are kings.

You believe yourself unseen,
But I am the watcher in the rafters,
The name carved beneath the hearthstone.
I have seen your shadow
Stretch long over the innocent.
And I have remembered.

II. The Thread

You weave lies like silk
But it is spider silk, my dear.
And soon,
You will feast upon yourself.

Your words are threads
And you have sewn your own funeral veil.
Oh yes,
The tongue that twists will twist again
In noose or knot, the choice is yours.
But mark me:
It will tighten.

III. The Friends

You have them now
The pack of smiles, the chorus of praise.
Watch how they flicker
When the candle runs low.
They are moths, not wolves.
And you are not the moon.

One gust
Just one whispered truth
And they shall scatter.

Their loyalty is a paper mask
Held by fraying thread.
And when it tears,
You will know
That none ever saw you.
Only the costume you wore
To the masquerade you mistook for love.

IV. The Weakness

Oh, how you lean.
How you cling to others
Like ivy to old stone
Taking, draining, demanding…

You are a symphony of borrowed bones.
A monument of mirrors.
You cannot walk without a hand to guide you,
Cannot speak without someone else’s script.

You call it strength to survive.
I call it what it is:
Dependency.

You are not sovereign.
You are a parasite
And your hosts are growing tired.

V. The Sight

I see you.

Not the painted face.
Not the practiced laugh.
Not the posts, the masks, the midnight whispers.

I see the hunger in your soul.
The small, brittle child
Screaming inside a glass heart,
Afraid of silence,
Terrified of truth.

But truth, my darling deceiver,
Is all I deal in.
It drips from my tongue
Like blood from an ancient blade.

VI. The Curse

By root and ash,
By thorn and bone,
By the drowned tongue of the silent crone,

I cast this upon you:

That your lies turn to wasps in your throat.
That every mirror show you as I see you.
That your “friends” become watchers,
Eyes behind smiles silent and judging.

That your name curdles on the lips of lovers.
That your every whisper returns to you
As a scream.

That the web you spun
Becomes your shroud.

And that when you cry for help,
The only answer shall be
The echo of the pain you've sown.

VII. The Ending That Isn’t

For I am not kind.
I am not forgiving.
I am not New Age, nor white-robed light.

I am the dark beneath the chapel floor.
The soot under holy robes.
The crown of crows upon the pyre.

I am the old way.
Blood, bone, salt, silence.

And you
You have summoned me
With your folly.

So now
Sleep lightly.
Speak truth,
If you still remember how.

For the King of Nevermore
Has spoken.

And my curses
Do not fade.