Drinking Animal Blood Is Cheating. Vampires Shouldn’t Go Vegan.

Let’s rip the Band-Aid off: animal blood is for cowards.

There, I said it.

This trend of vampires sipping ethically-sourced Bambi smoothies is not only dull—it’s downright blasphemous. Since when did the most seductive, dangerous, high-stakes predators in fiction decide to go soft and guilt-ridden?

“I only drink from deer,” they whisper, clutching their antique chalices like martyrs in mourning. Darling, please. Vampirism isn’t a juice cleanse. It’s a curse, a hunger, a glorious, terrifying appetite that turns desire into survival.

Let’s not pretend you’re doing this out of mercy. You’re doing it because you're afraid—afraid of the intimacy of the human vein, of the scream and the stillness. Afraid of the guilt. Afraid of feeling.

But here’s the thing: true vampires feed on the living. They take risks. They stalk the night. They drink deeply. If you’re not wrestling with your own monstrous urges, you’re just LARPing in eyeliner.

Drinking animal blood is like ordering a salad at a steakhouse—it might fill you up, technically, but everyone at the table knows you’ve missed the point.

So to all my so-called “ethical” immortals: either grow a pair of fangs and face the feast, or admit what you are.

A shadow without teeth.