User blog comment:SCORNFUL1/Audience With A Vampire: Ask Armata De'Sange/@comment-30014014-20170914031216/@comment-30014014-20170921155149

'''A sentient individual of the night you are, I will conceide. However...'''

''Prad stops for a moment. HIs head slowly and gradually lowers, in a state of reflection. As he does, so does the shadow under his chair, molding under a force to fabric a semblance of a world, a secluded altar. Color steps in, all glazed in crimson, as mounted prisoners gesticutale in their chains and shackles. IN the distance, caped individuals stand, no clear details of their faces, save for a glaring red set of eyes shining in the dark. Some, holding a cup in their clawed fingers.''

''In that moment, one of them, perhaps a lesser servant, as he is not as luxuriously dressed, walks over to the prisoners with a sacrificial dagger. He strikes, just as Prad puts him foot, distorting the imagery before it vanishes again.''

'''This old world. The old wars. Your ancestors. They would all contradict your words on the rejection of your monster instincts. Feasting altars, thousands of them stretched across the world, all carried out by the higher ups, who, in their pretentions, couldn't gut the sacrifices themselves.'''