We can put up with characters who are the psychopaths, the pedophiles, the monsters, the insane. We can love the badasses, the bitches, the criers, the pyros, and the mad. The cold and distant, the fiery and passionate.
But what we can’t deal with is an author who can’t even remember the names of her own characters and gets pissed at people for pointing out her discontinuities and out-of-characterizations.
Give us the evil vampires. Spare us the authorial nonsense.