<pre style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, Helvetica, Trebuchet, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 16.799999237060547px; margin: 0px 0px 10px; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word; color: #333333; text-align: start;">My name is Vladimir Tepes. Over the past 541 years, (no, even before that) I have been called a vampire, by innumerable men and women who wished I was. Much rather, a term to better describe me would be 'apparition'. A shadow, a figure, practically on the borders of your imagination, though that's not far from the truth. I exist now, because before I never did. For centuries the poor and destitute relied on my image to keep their faith in karmic balance, for no one could answer why.
My image shifted and infected many. In their caskets, bricks were crushed into their teeth and wedged tightly in mouths. Stakes were driven through their chests so they couldn't arise. And garlic was tossed on for an additional layer of safety. Several times the Romanian peasants fulfilled this disgrace, and several times dishonor, pain, and agony of the felon's soul came from it.
It is clarion yet muddled, what I am. I am a fake. Within the corpse of a holy hero, I am the embodiment of the blame held by the scapegoats. I exist only because there is no other yet who shall take responsibility for the suffering of many. Its possible there never will. How blessed is thy when others revile thee and persecute thee and utter all kinds of evil against thee on His account.</pre>
