MORBIUS: Amanda, get away from me. What are you doing?
AMANDA: I’m not going to lose you to them also, Michael. They’ve taken too much from me as it is.
AMANDA (narration): Michael was the only secure thing left in my life… even if I had seen him possessed by some inner demon.
AMANDA: Without blood, you’ll die— I… I want you to take mine.
AMANDA (narration): I tried not to think of his actually drinking blood.
MORBIUS: I can’t, Amanda! Not you! That would be my final… damnation!
AMANDA (narration): I pulled that boutique dress low. His vulnerability made me feel quite close to him.
AMANDA: You’re dying! Don’t you think I can tell? Be gentle, dear Michael. Take what you need to… survive.
AMANDA (narration): I felt his shallow breath gasping harshly and then, as if my words were lost to him, I felt him clutch at me, his teeth touching my neck… then thrusting—penetrating! I felt the blood ripped from its vein-route, sucked into his hollow fangs! I nearly passed out when I realized the sudden warmth I felt at my breast was my own blood! The gothic romance novels lie, Roman Polanski’s movie myths are just that. There is nothing romantic about the vampiric act. It is sheer, brutal desperation. My vision dimmed! I felt him pull back, and then descend again! And then, in the swirling vortex of hazy thought, I wondered: would he be able to control the compulsion before he drained my life-arteries… dry?!!