Once upon a horribly gruesome death, there was a terrifyingly evil birth. Just below the great city of Shamalon, within the vast, majestic Vampirian Halls, the queen of all vampires wailed and groaned with indescribable pain. She lay helpless within her great coffin, which sat atop a great stone altar in the middle of a great, open chamber. Her maidservants surrounded the altar, and each one stood chanting the ancient birthing rites. They wore scarlet robes, and gazed, transfixed, at their master that lay within the coffin. The queen’s raven hair fell slickly around her neck, and her brilliantly crimson eyes shut tight against the pain. The vast hall echoed with her frequent groans of pain. Raw power flowed from the altar, and slammed the chamber walls with such a wicked force, that caused a constant shower of dust to rain down upon the room. The maidservants could barely stand against its outward flow, and struggled against it, as if pushing against some great torrent. The queen’s womb, misshapen from the dead life within, swelled and dropped, like waves on a stormy sea.

The queen’s Head Mistress walked slowly around the altar. She was a tall, gaunt woman wearing a black-satin robe that was embroidered with golden thread along its many seems. In one hand she held a black cobra that danced and twisted around her arm, and in the other she held a shimmering dagger. As she passed each of the maidservants, they held out their arms to her, and with glossy eyes offered them to the dark ritual. With one fluid motion she swept the dagger down across their wrists. She continued on to the next, until each maidservant’s blood mingled slickly upon the stone floor. With the maidservant’s blood now flowing freely, the Head Mistress walked to the foot of the altar, climbed the steps to the coffin, and stood between the queen’s widespread legs, her eyes now as glossy as a drop of water upon a leaf’s edge.

                “Nosh fout Tara sone,” the Head Mistress began, each word falling from her mouth. They were profanities unto themselves, and twisted the dank air that filled the room. “Kos ran took farr,” she continued.

                The maidservants echoed her words with methodic precision, as they inched toward the altar. They raised their arms above their heads, and each of their wrists vomited its blood upon the stone floor. The cherry honey flowed down their arms and strengthened the twisted rite with every slick drop. It slid along the floor, taking a snake like form at the base of the altar’s stairs. The blood snake hissed into creation, as each of the maidservants dropped to the floor, dead and lifeless. The blood snake slithered up the stairs, leaving a bloody trail behind it. It reached the coffin and rose to its full height. The Head Mistress backed away down the stairs. The blood snake’s long, ruby form overshadowed the queen, and its great mouth opened to receive the newborn. The Head Mistress dropped to her knees just behind the blood snake’s tail.