Nothing Persists in the House of Habsburg

Scarlet stains the seas and the skies are black. Fathomless chaos of eternal night has descended to shroud the dying sun; a disease of black bile and venom spilling from the overflowing veins of tyranny, an unstoppable growth that roots in our constricted souls and the familiar pathologies of daily discord.

Out of the shadowtides riseth I, Necrosferatul, my songs filled with the sound of waves, my batsails bloodying the sea. I am the daywalker of myth and lore, the universal donor, defenestrator superstar. I am the benevolent protagonist, heavy with the dust of centuries and much less real than you and your enemies.

Buckingham gorefest... Babenberg beach massacre... Bloodmoon over Babylon... ha! Powdered wigs belong in the coffin and coffins belong in the Hot Rod Hearse, ja? Ancient bloodlines are only good for the sucking. Tudors are only good for the toppling.

When the tyranny of the ego overrules the soul, the needs of the self remain unanswered. Since aeons I have been a monument that drives the stake into the core of those who refuse to do the work within. For regicide begins in our hearts and is more resistance than revenge, more self-defence than punishment, more will to love than rage and hate.

Tide and time come to each in turn. Know yourselves and come to me after your death. Drink all my heart's blood and remember me ere I vanish in the morning light.