My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. “You have the temperament,” he said. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke. I do not wish to seek them out, en effet. I must have been very wound up. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. It probably had its own repulsive oubliette in the bottom, where tiny princesses could fall and break their necks. "My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. Everything was blurred. THIS, this glissade, would be damned scoundrelism.
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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 10-06-2024 10:56:09
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