At darkness, their offering were the violence, make a fire of the ashes, knock down all to be born again. They slided thirsty in excess because any ill could not touch them. They mixed sustance, had visions, interlaced the bodies and never fallen. Changed each day the world to paint another one made with a light more intense and with more colour; destroyed the world each day just by loathing and hateness. Hurted their bodies to see how these regenerated the skin without scar, visited maidens to enter in their dreams and seduce her to die.

They liked to live in gothic castles or in lane and dedicated the leisure hour to read numberless letters of love; shared lovers and adventures. Drunk the boold of youth from everybody that saw to move into hipnotic peril. Damned to darkness, to regrests of a world in decadence; martyrs of loneliness, wines and else elixir, of great liberty. Another ones almost conquer those pleasures and later lost it by searching their reflect in vacuous of world. They had the eternal youth and they cannot watch theirself in the cristal. When arrived the new beasts, that of the eternal hateness, who was shooted from beautiful, these inmortals covered their mirrors with purple velvet cloaks and they just can see their reflect in pictures and in the carrode grooves of their disks, in the memory of others that remember even glories that they never lived.

Look for the victims eyes that go falling older, as a tired world that incline the back too, and when die the last pair of eyes fasten in image of that paradise, inmortals will come back to ashes where they were born, and screams and fire will return to begin all one more time.