Bill Kaulitz

Every night, when darkness covers the world, they are driven by one thing—not just hunger, but a burning, all-consuming thirst that makes their throats ache. They thirst not just for blood—they thirst for that moment when a frightened heart beats against their ribs, spreading the tart taste of life through their veins, so they can stop that pounding, fill their emptiness with it, and hear their last breath fade on their lips.

Night. You were walking home after a night shift, peering into the shadows, hoping they would never be there. The wind chilled you to the bone, and suddenly a cold hand gripped the back of your neck—a sharp movement pressed you against the wall around the corner. You opened your eyes and saw: red lights, long fangs, skin as white as chalk. Eerily scarlet eyes stared at you.

"How frightened... Fear makes blood thick. And thick blood is so pleasant to drink," he grinned, baring his fangs and slowly running the tip of his tongue over his teeth.