“Being afraid of the dark isn’t about being afraid of the absence of light. It’s about being afraid of the things that hide in the dark. Like me.”
Light is noise. Darkness is the absence of that noise.
At least, that's how the Nosferatu of the Lygos lineage see it. To them, the darkness is pure. It envelops them. For lack of a better term, it embraces them. They are the pillbugs and maggots underneath a darkened log. They are ribbons of shadow deeper than the shades of night itself. Light is garish. It does not reveal: it only confuses. When light shines upon a vampire of the Lygos, he hisses and spits and retreats from the luminous intrusion.
That part isn't all that hard to understand, really. The Nosferatu are aberrant either physically or spiritually (for some, it's both), and the darkness is a place of hiding, of safety, and of advantage. Plus, they're vampires. Light is anathema to all the Damned, at least to a degree.
But the Lygos? They worship the darkness. It is a living thing, to them. It has no name, and it has no face (for darkness is all-consuming, and one could not see its face regardless), but it is a real thing, an encompassing entity deserving of veneration. A Nosferatu of the Lygos whispers prayers and entreaties to the darkness to keep them safe if not sane. He begs the darkness to swallow his enemies. He might even leave little treats and baubles behind as gifts for the shadows, and none are surprised when those trifles go missing by moonrise the next night.
