Vampires don’t sleep. It’s part of the whole curse thing—no rest, no quiet, no respite from our evil deeds. We are condemned to an eternity of staring at empty walls and reflecting on what we have done, all in the hope of atoning for our very existence. The possibilities for self-flagellation are endless. But my white-hot take is that I’ve done nothing wrong, at least not since I began observing a strictly asshole-tarian diet.
