Never again... will I kneel to any man. Now they shall kneel to me. As you do, monster. My monster. My beautiful corpse. How clever he's been, our creator. But our little god... has brought forth not angels... but demons. Thee and me. And what should we do with this power, undead thing? You're a thoughtful man, a philosopher even. So tell me, why do we exist? Why have we been chosen? Tell me. I don't know. Is it to suffer? Yes. Must it be? How can it be other? We long for that we cannot have. Women? I'll bring you a dozen. We'll f*ck 'em together. Me? Then you shall have me. I want you. I want a man unlike all other men. My brother, my equal. I'll take you... by this beautiful, white, dead hand and lead you to my bed right now. I'll bleed for you. I'll love you... for your sadness... and your poetry and your passion and your rage and your infinite, luxurious ugliness. I'll lick your sins away. And when Victor comes home... we'll put our hands around his throat together... and watch him die. And then this will be our home. And then? What then, undead thing? We were created to rule, my love. And the blood of mankind will water our garden. Us and our kin... and our children, and our generations. We are the conquerors. We are the pure blood. We are steel and sinew both. We are the next 1000 years. We are the dead. No being... who ever was... or ever will be, shall love you... like I do.