Why turn the vampire into fire when you could turn him into a lawn chair?
Madness string 96712
I feel like I'm grabbing tongs every three fucking seconds. There is no joy in my tongs.
No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don't.