Gliding up the steps of the ancient church, pausing to savour every sweet moment, he smiles.
“Vengeance is mine” saith The Lord
“Not this time , “ the stranger cries.
The oak door creaks open, emitting the scent of candle wax, incense and buried mustiness.
Unconsecrated church. What joy!
Drac sighs contentedly as he glides up the aisle, snubbing his nose at the painted icons.

All that this God needs
Pulsing red from yawning vein
My Dark Master feeds.