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It is funny...the nature of our familial strife.

You could not even venture to understand it, could you? Such a time far beyond yourself, more simple, less clear. You and those faces burned into your mind from when your eyes first opened cannot know the pain when your cousins were born. The beasts you have come to hate. No more than your own ancestors, no more or less human than you, once. The authors of a new dynasty, merely those of us who did not follow the great plague to oblivion, but were left behind. Crippled. Pale, hungry, hollow. Robbed of the warmth due to all children of the sun, cut from that lineage by a mere misstep far from our control. When the blight that scoured our land silenced the fields, only our voices still rose in pain. Tearing ourselves from the light we loved, watching the bodies we knew fade and crack before our eyes...and all the familiar lusts now focused just under your flesh.

Had we not been chased from our homes, even if you and all your family's arms had not faltered in their invitation, we would not have stayed. We were no longer welcome at your table. The host had left us. We would not have stood by, building our mounds of dirt and dung while lusting for your castles of shimmering warmth and bright sky. No...we would have grown tired, missed the color of our flesh and the strength of our bones. And either we would have left, or torn through the ones we called family without a second thought. Dig into them, try to find what little piece left inside that gave them God's grace. What they had inside that had been robbed from us.

But we were denied that choice. Maybe it was fear. Perhaps they could sense that want inside us? Maybe that envy for their white clouds and blue skies and warm sunlight, or the ache for their joyous laughs, salty, bitter tears, their gasping, soul-wrenching moans. Or...perhaps they could see the resentment and hunger that may have reduced them in our eyes to the great, bloated pigs that made their saliva flow free. As you now know...that was not unfounded. I have discovered that your kind has a great gift of panic, for when the mind is at its least rational, the more doors open, the more paths become clear. No longer ensnared in the sluggish tethers of logic, you enter fantasy...and voices start to scream of an entire lifetime that you create with each possible step before you. I admire that. I miss that. Though, only somewhat, for it was that panic that sent us fleeing into the pits and holes and cracks this world affords us. Chased away by the faces I had come to love.

When those of us who danced deep enough into the dark and slipped between the cracks of gold slowed to a stop, we built up our new world. A crude, tasteless pantomime of the lives we ached for, where we ignored the lengthening fangs from our smiles and tried to convince ourselves we were humans. Only sick. Only different. Only cursed. It was no use, and slowly, surely, we began to let the line blur between the aristocratic humanity we clung to and the festering, stinking ache of our feral neighbors, some beyond recognition. We knew the light had left us, so we let the darkness fill every corner it had left. And yet, another little trait of your curious species had not left us. Stubbornness. Illogical will. Self-serving, foolish pride. These are what I was unable to cast aside. Myself and others, we were unable to merely forget what we once were. And we began our tribe. We had not become so dulled, so apathetic that we had lost our sense of pleasure, of love, or even of family. And with each new union, we could feel little sparks of the lives we once had deep within, and tried desperately to give ourselves the life we knew we deserved.

But, in doing so, we set the stage for everything that has created this world. Plagued our kind and yours. In our delusions of family, we worked hard to ensure our children had pride in their features, did not miss the light as we ourselves did. As any good parent would, we convinced each generation that they were as God himself intended. And now, our own overcompensation has led to a great, charging boulder that has created a race of new savages. Young vampires with every ounce of humanity taught and bred away, the childhood message of pride twisted across generations into a creed of superiority. Of perfection. In our desire to play human, we let our children believe themselves to be gods. With no love for the cattle outside in the warmth. With no envy, only disdain. No fraternity, only hostility. The generation of our kind you were born to meet does not have what you and I share. The image of the sun, forever burned into memory. And if they only knew, if they only understood where we came from, the time in which I walked through the forests, chopping trees before sharing a meal with my wife, my brothers and their wives...my children. My true children, born under sun and not moon. Long gone, taken by the beast that ripped what you have from me.

That is why we fight. Because my descendants walking your earth and hunting your families think of themselves as gifted and not crippled. Blessed and not forsaken. Apex predators...and not parasites. And for that...I am truly sorry. In our attempts...in my attempts to regain what was lost, I set in motion the end of days, the falling of the house I sought to return home to.

What I say to you now is not a challenge, not a taunt, nor is it a task I set before you. It is merely a fact. If you and your kind are to survive, you must destroy my tribe. You must take back your night.

But I would not let yourself be lost to hope.

And even if you find yourself gaining the upper hand over my children...you would be wise to remember. I built this empire with the others as we wallowed in the dirt. Even as I lost hope for the light, I never resigned myself to the dust. If centuries have not robbed me of the will to live of which I was blessed by my fallen humanity, then I doubt a mere human like yourself shall either. Heed me, the only way I will fall is when I am struck down, and granted peace. But not before you.

If you want to live, prove your will to destroy is greater than ours. Ensure your lust for life is sweeter than that fermented over a millennium of starvation.

Prove to me you deserve this land, child.