Lesbierin (I'll leave you to guess )

So long were her passions spent upon her, yes, she, the one of sexual wrath and tyranny. The marvel of she is found upon the lips of many a Cainite and non-Cainite lover in the darkened crescent of a waxing moon. When arisen she cries in pale shades of longing till her submitter arrives to submit to the will of rosyln desires a-flowing in scarlet mysteries of power. Save her thus, buy her black robes and white robes all burnt and frayed about the middle, and there you'll see her lust, her true nature.

Her preference sighs in layers of sheets aside her partner, the girl, the lover, the vampyre. Three maids for her servants- oh but what fervour! A-top of the mountainous hills of flesh we find her tongue, her fangs, and her mouth to slide slowly to crown the peak of the hill with a poisoned kiss of razor blades. Cut, slice- she opens her upper mouth to speak but is lost in exhalation, her other slaves chained to their posts, writhing to the delicious sounds of betrayal, envy and bestial courtship. Oh, and she sings tunes of beauty and passion astride the rhythm of she that she beholds

The course of her violent urrings, unrequited to her skilled ability of strenuous pleasures of the mind, slows her body, her soul. Their souls unite in the boundaries of a legion, avaricious demons perturbing vanity embrace their united souls and hold them tight, vanquishing their beings, snatching and scratching and seizing corrupted messengers who seek chaste angels of proceeding unchastely phenomenons.

Those neither corrupt nor pure of heart fully clothe their person in robes of seduction to force their hearts to beat to the poetic pulsation and climatic passions in their chamber of sunsets and hurricanes. So cynical lie the rest of the world while the submitters die of euphorical infections. Let them alone children, for you have so much to learn from the oppressed of our world.