We might employ the word "love", though its connotations are not as the mortal might define it, self-sacrifice not being within us, and we may utilize the word "hate", even in great rage, but it's not the same definition.

Dark Kith remember, however, what it was like to feel absolutes, we keenly experience an emptiness inside ourselves, like dried husks, the seed stolen away. We want to bear fruit but in us is nothing fertile. We are barren mothers, impotent fathers. This hole angers and frustrates us. We are limited, confined, enslaved. Mortals walk where and when the fancy pricks them whereas we cannot. Hate sublimates into contempt, disdain and envy forcing us to lash out through sheer momentum-- perhaps one of our human reflexes, to kill and feed on that which is alien, irreconcilably different and weaker.

Passion without direct target, impossible to narrow to one subject, we are consumed... it often masters us, alters to avarice and coveteousness. We desire to fill our void with things we can no longer obtain or experience-- a beating heart, pumping blood, muted senses which make the world more of a wonder, true adoration, true loathing, faith-- all this, these natural needs and the preternatural inability to harvest them boils inside the void, eats us like a cancer, makes us like Cerebus from the very gates of Hades itself; always before but never inside, snarling on the fringes. Emotion without purity, without validity, without focus, wide-spread and volatile. The intrinsic behavior of a soul-full being made extrinsic, but with the eternal memory that once upon a time it all fit together...