One hundred thirty-seven. That’s how many people I’ve murdered in cold blood.
One hundred four. That’s how old I truly am.
Eighty-seven. That’s how many years ago I ceased being a human being and became the disgusting, soulless monster you see in front of you now.
Zero. The number of women I’ve loved in all one hundred four years of my existence. The number of women I’ve kissed. The number of times I’ve allowed myself to carry on the illusion of a relationship with anyone.
Zero. The number of minutes I’ll spend feeling anything aside from blood-thirst for you.