Sun

They didn't require sleep; that was simply a bit of clever marketing. A kind of stasis could be reached when motionless for a while and the dreams of their kind were frequently violent; the coffin was a comfort in more ways than one. But ... their kind was no stranger to the sun, that liar-liar-pants-on-perpetual-fire in the sky, shining false hope on everything, making the shadows shrink back as if it was somehow victorious every moment it bothered to show up. It had taken a couple of lifetimes to realize that the sun's (that planetary poser) flash and fury spent itself in a handful of hours, while the shadows remained (constant and confident in their waiting). "Vigilant ... dependable," he whispered now, peering out of the castle windows at the pomp and circumstance of morning light on the forest and villages below. The shadows held Dracula patiently, soothing his unrest. "You can go out if you wish," the shadows said in his mind. "Cover yourself and go; this could be the moment of a "grand reveal"!" "No," he responded eventually. "Hunting at night has the most advantages; it's the logical choice. I simply grow weary of the sun's bravado after all of this time." "He's in the dark of the parapet, talking smack about the sun to himself," one of the wives shared (coming into the common room). "Oh, dear," said the others in near unison. "Yeah, that is one tightly wound vamp," she continued. "He could swallow sand and shit a diamond." They were tempted to laugh openly, but thought the better of it. Each of them missed and dissed the sun in their own way.