I have already spent a hundred lifetimes alone, and what long lifetimes they have been.

The repentance for my sins against morality was enough to blacken my soul.

It was the first time I had let go of my inhibitions in aeons. She had the key to the cage of propriety in which I had imprisoned myself. I was introduced to a lifestyle of decadence.

Death perishes the body; pain perishes the soul.

Death, even violent, terrifying death, was a virtue compared to this.

Humans aren’t meant to go that long without feeling the embrace of sunlight. But I wasn’t human anymore. I never really had been.

Doubt, Scarlet, is the scourge of magick.

Blood, sex, death. Love, hate; power thrives in the throes of all passions. And power is notoriously enamouring