Seeking succor from her dreams,
hear the restless vampire screams.
Dreams of stakes and silver knives.
Hunters harvest undead lives.
Tears of red in eyes of gold,
warm red blood and pale flesh cold,
turn to embers, ashes, dust.
Desperate hands through packed earth thrust.
Too late now, the gurgling sighs
sing the dirge as evil dies.
Now the victory light of sun
shines upon the chosen one.
But somewhere across the sea,
fledgling fanged ones now roam free…
BlackQuill 