I never knew what life was until it ran out in a red gush over any lips, my hands!
I was good and bad, but never wicked.
I hear the birds singing. Listen. I hear them in their cage. The others-all our kind who know of her-they think of her as heartless, but she wasn't heartless. She was only aware of things which I didn't learn till so many decades had passed. She knew secrets that only suffering can teach.
You were the vampire in my dream. My perfect one.
Be kind. Always if you have a choice, be kind.
Obviously, a writer can't know everything about what she writes. It's impossible.