You've built your homeyou've fledged your birdsyou've beaten the windwith your bonesyou've finished alonewhat no one began

But, who is Death? A figure that harrows and wastes wherever and however it pleases. This is also a possible description of the Countess Bathory. Never did anyone wish so hard not to grow old I mean, to die. That is why, perhaps, she acted and played the role of Death. Because, how can Death possibly die?

I don’t know about birds nor do I know the history of fire. But I believe that my solitude should have wings

Because no one has more thirst for earth, for blood, and for ferocious sexuality than the creatures who inhabit cold mirrors