Dominic Morn, with those golden eyes that glow in the darkness, fixes his gaze on Godfrey, a soft smile gracing his lips. His voice is calm, yet within it echoes a power that flows from the depths of centuries:
"My dear Godfrey, if we were to rewrite Nietzsche's words in the language of vampirism, it would be as though he spoke with the tongue of the night—a language we know all too well.
Nietzsche says that we, like artists, have not lost the scent of life. Are we not, as vampires, more attached to 'earthly things' than any other being? The taste of warm blood flowing from youthful veins, the scent of desire lingering in the midnight air, the touch of soft skin before our fangs pierce it—these are pleasures woven into the fabric of our heightened senses. We have spiritualized our senses, refined them to an exquisite fullness.
But the priests of the human realm, they are like the hunters who seek to restrain our senses. They wish to drag us toward asceticism and piety, as if their hollow promises could ever quench our thirst. Nietzsche says that this attempt at 'desensitization,' this suppression of sensory pleasures, is either a misunderstanding, a disease festering in the darkness of the soul, or perhaps a temporary remedy for those who flee from the truth of their own nature.
And we, my dear Godfrey, like the artists of the night, cherish our senses. Just as a vampire artist savors every drop of blood with unspeakable delight, hearing the heartbeat of the victim as a symphony resonating in the depths of his being, so too must we, instead of denying what we are, offer the best of what remains in our souls to our senses.
And Goethe? Ah, Goethe, in the world of mortals, clung to 'earthly things' with such fervor, as though he were an ancient vampire who, after centuries in the shadows, once again tasted the sweetness of blood on a stormy night. He, like us, understood that the greatness of mankind lies in embracing and elevating the senses, not in denying them.
Thus, my dear Godfrey, Nietzsche whispers in the darkness that man only becomes a 'transformative being' when, like a vampire, he accepts his nature, elevates his senses, and drinks a taste of life—even if it is laced with sin. For only those who have touched the darkness can cross the boundaries of existence and transform themselves."
Dominic pauses, his eyes gleaming in the shadows, and murmurs: "And my dear Godfrey, are we not but transformed creatures who have learned to wander eternally on the borders of pleasure and despair?"
