thy-fearful-symmetry

[thy-fearful-symmetry]

a kiss like devotion

This is a collaborative RP between @leliorisen and @thy-fearful-symmetry. The following story is a compilation of our joint replies, edited slightly for tense consistency and flow to create a more cohesive long-form narrative. Some original tenses have been intentionally preserved and are marked with an asterisk (*). Synopsis: Lestat’s in Amsterdam, chasing art, memories, and the fledgling vampire who’d rather not be found. David’s brooding, bitter, and inconveniently irresistible. What follows is a slow, blood-soaked waltz through old wounds, darker desires, and one very compromised hotel suite. Love never dies; but it does hold a grudge.

Words: 5.2k

Bicycles clammer over cobblestone streets, their riders illuminated by the soft glow of café windows. The air hums with a soft energy. Alive. The murmur of conversations, the rhythm of passing trams, and the occasional shrill laughter skips across the canals. Alive. Amsterdam at night is a dance of contrasts.  History wrapped in a modern blanket, still waters cradling restless, bustling lives. This city feels like it wants to tell me a story and I’d gladly listen.

The leather of my boot squeaked as I touched down in the seclusion of a back alley, the only small noise that no one would detect. David is here, he’s in this city and he’s been avoiding me. Over the course of a few weeks, he’s eluded all of my attempts to connect. I knew the way without knowing the way. Its as though each turn took me to a bridge in this nocturnal narrative that lead me to Rijksmuseum. Was he reliving his mortal life, coming here?

David sat alone on the thin bench in the dimly lit hallway, arms folded across his broad chest, staring intently ahead at the small painting on the wall before him. With only an hour left until close, the museum was largely quiet, the exception being a few dull murmurs of the lingering public to pierce the silence. He had likely slipped in unnoticed, a trick he exercised frequently, now that he was no longer able to take advantage of the nearly unrestricted access his former face had so often provided. 

He stared up at the painted youth with the lowered dark eyes and reddish hair, his boyish face engulfed by a large monastic hood. He wore a musing, almost sad expression.  Darkness surrounded him but the contrast of warm light on his skin was entrancing, and I found that David couldn’t take his eyes off it. Yes, he quite reminded him of someone. Smiling now, he didn’t even blink when he heard the soft echo of my approaching footfall.

Seeing him there on that bench, made my heart race uncontrollably. An unexpected nervousness gripped me suddenly. “And what do you see now with your new vision? Does Rembrandt still enrapture your senses?”

He sighed. My low, silky voice with it’s sultry resonance never ceased to make his soul flutter. And I knew it. “Seems you finally found me,” he remarked dryly, making eye contact with my pair of lavender tinted glasses. “Hope I didn’t make it too easy on you, though.”

“I didn’t know we were playing hide and seek.” Shrugging I lazily turned to the oil painting and leaned in for a closer look. “Am I “IT”, now? I have some wonderful hiding places.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do,” he mused. He pondered this for a moment, before the smile left his lips.

“Why did you do it, Lestat?” He asked quite suddenly, his voice even and steady, his eyes never leaving the auburn haired boy on the wall.

Clenching my jaw, I fixed my gaze on some far off piece of marble flooring. “I do many things. You’ll have to be specific.”

“Humour me… did you think about it, at all, before you did it? I told you I didn’t want it, I couldn’t … Did you even consider it for the briefest moment?” His voice was now tinged with a hint of irritation. “Or did you really let reason be damned and feel every bit the monster that night?”

“Oh I am nothing but a monster. You always forget that, David. Did I consider it? Do you want my honesty?” I placed a hand across the breast of my overcoat. “No. I knew it instantly within every sinew of my twisted being the moment you tapped on the glass of that payphone booth.”

The sincerity of my admission took him back slightly, but without missing a beat he snapped back, “So it was premeditated murder?”

“Sure, call it what you will. But I gave you more time with the humanity of this body than I had in it. Doesn’t that count for something? I think the more appropriate question, is how could I not?”

“Did you not stop, at any point in this merciful time period you graced me with, to think that perhaps I wanted to stay in this human form? That I was at peace with my mortality? What right did you believe you had?”

“There have been long nights in my past that I lied in foreign fields and gazed at the cosmos, begging something divine to reveal to me the meaning of my existence. What right do I have to merely be alive after 270 years. And the void echoed back only my own pleas. So when you ask me what right I had, I can only say that I’m a part of your inevitability.” Kneeling to meet his eyes more evenly, my hand brushed against his bronzed cheek. “You can hate me now. As they all do. But you’ll always be my magnum opus.”

“Did you never think about what I wanted?” He closed his eyes tightly, clenching his fist and letting out a deep sigh of resignation. “I love you. I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you, that night long ago. But like I’ve asked you before, did that love have to come with such finality? You turned the page before I even finished the paragraph.”

He sighed again, looking away and casting his eyes back toward the boy on the wall. The handsome dark eyed youth, wrapped up in the dark, forever frozen somewhere in time. How interesting, this new relatable dynamic. 

“I should hate you. God knows, I’ve tried.” A deep smile crept across his face, and a half laugh escaped him. “You made me the thing I once studied with cold detachment. Now I am the subject. And it turns out… the world looks very different when you’re in the dark.”

The silence that settled between us carried a weight, yet it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. I resisted the urge to rush him through his thoughts, even as the museum staff began their closing rituals. He no longer allowed me to hold him as he had on that New Orleans morning, when I’d found him waiting at my flat. And yet, the memory of his cologne, the texture of his skin—it lingered, maddeningly vivid. Perhaps it was for the best that he was no longer human.

“Are you staying here, in the city?”

“Yes, for the moment,” David said as he stood. It appeared he was not fully ready to entirely drop the subject, and as always, never caring to pass up a chance to poke the tiger. “I haven’t hunted yet this evening. Since you’re here, care to join me?” 

We quickly passed from the building into the cool night air, stepping in pace together under the streetlights. David thrust his hands into the deep pockets of his Italian wool overcoat, probably more so out of habit than actually being chilly. 

“So do correct me if I’m wrong,” he started, the words escaping into vapor from his lips, “but what you’re saying is that you saved me from my own natural death, and my turning was just inevitable?” He smirked. “How noble of you. I do hope the choir of angels clapped as you drained me.”

My lip twisted into a snarl, a feral response to his jeers. He craved a reaction, relished the thought of me breaking composure. It became a quiet war within me. Indulge him, or let the silence sting sharper than words. Without breaking stride, I exhaled, slow and deliberate. “I recall meeting gentle Candomblé spirits,” I murmured, my voice an edge of silk, “but a choir? No. Would you like me to describe to you the sheer ecstasy of it?”

“Oh you would like that, wouldn’t you?” He teased, unable to suppress that smile that I so loved. “You speak like it was a religious experience. I hate to disappoint, but I was hardly feeling divine at the time.”

After a beat, he slowed his pace and paused, stopping to lean against the trunk of a tall tree positioned beside one of the lampposts. “Alright,” he said finally, purposely rising to the bait. “Tell me. By all means, tell me how I tasted. I’ll try not to interrupt while you relive your favorite conquest.”

My favorite conquest, indeed. None of my fledglings ever fought with the ferocity of David, a necessary evil to forge strength in the blood.

“I could compare you to the fruits of my mortal life, but the memory of their taste escapes me. How can I describe the eruption of someone’s entire existence flooding into your mouth, surging through your veins? It was as if my heart had taken root in your chest, beating in tandem with yours.��

I paused, brushing strands of hair from my face as the cool night breeze tangled them. “You’ve claimed countless victims. What wisdom could I possibly offer about something you’ve already lived? But I will say this, it wasn’t the taste. You know that. It was everything about us. The fleeting moments we shared as mortals. The balmy nights on the beach, the rhythmic cracking of coconut palms swaying in the wind. The way your eyes still mirrored the soul of the aged man I had grown so deeply fond of. It was,” I leaned in, my voice a hushed confession, “the intimacy I was denied in life, that I stole in death.”

I saw an immediate deep, hot flush spread over his face, despite not having yet fed this evening. He glanced away and gave a quick cough to clear his suddenly dry throat, and crossed his arms. 

“Careful, Lestat. Any more of that and I might mistake you for sincere.”

He met my gaze, curious and searching, threw on a rather cheeky smile, then decided to continue.

“Listen,” he implored, “Of course I could keep pretending to be angry for all eternity, but you and I both know that’s not true. In all my birth pangs of righteous indignation, justified, I might add, I could never have hated you. That’s the one thing you never understood.”

He reached out and touched my chest, not so much a caress, but a claiming.

“I didn’t want to ask.” His fingers lingered, not over my heart, but just beside it. Where the hunger thrummed the loudest. 

“You think I resented you for taking what I wouldn’t ask for. But the truth is…” His fingers absently continued to trace upward until they brushed against my mouth. “You gave me the one thing I couldn’t give myself.”

I gazed into his deep umber eyes, then pressed a kiss to the fingers that grazed my lips. As my eyelids drifted shut, I surrendered to the gentleness of his touch. His hand, unlike mine, wasn’t as rigid and unyielding as stone. It was cool, yet soft, a delicate contrast that lingered on my skin.

I couldn’t help but feel satisfied with his softened demeanor, not out of self-righteousness, but from the quiet relief brought by this newfound closeness.

Pulling myself out of the moment, I caught sight of David’s expression and it almost sent me into a fit of laughter. His mouth hung open, his eyes frozen in shock, and only then did I realize I’d been absentmindedly sucking on the tip of his thumb. “So, mon cher, shall we hunt?” I asked, slipping his hand from my mouth with deliberate ease. Then, curling my lips into my most devilish smile, I added, “Or would you prefer to show me your rooms?”

Gathering what remained of his dignity this evening, he took his thumb, still warm from the assault and curled it into a quick fist. 

“I would love nothing more, mon démon charmant,” he paused, letting me follow his gaze. He let his eyes wander to a pair of chatty young people, hand in hand and traveling down a nearby darkened alleyway. So spirited and full of life. How unfortunate for them. 

“I adore hunting with you. Truly, I live for the moment when you wink at me over someone’s jugular.” He smiled, adjusted his scarf and made a gentle stride in the direction of the couple, hearing the soft click of my boots instep just beside him. 

“There’s a rather large hotel just down the street, I’ve taken a suite overlooking the canal. Afterward, if you’ve nowhere else to be …” he let the insinuation simmer.

It’s a rare thing to learn of David’s hunts, rarer still to be part of them. Though he continues to need the blood each night, I find myself craving it, not out of necessity, but from some deeper yearning that lingers within me.

We descended upon the hapless duo, swift and silent, leaving no time for terror to take hold. I swooped down from above, targeting the male with precision. Careful, Lestat, I reminded myself. No need to crush him. Restraint had become a challenge lately, brutality too easily slipping through. Cradling his head, I sank my fangs into the tender flesh and drank deeply, savoring the rush.

There are moments when I desire the vivid dreams of my victims, and others when I long to shut them out entirely. Yet, I can’t always halt the relentless stream of images that flood my mind in their final moments. Oskar, he was visiting from Germany.

As I lowered the lifeless body with care, his soft whisper cut through my thoughts, “Don’t forget to hide your marks. And here.” He tossed me a small bag of unidentifiable substances. “Put this in his hand.”I complied without hesitation, then paused to adjust my suit, ensuring every detail was immaculate.

It was no more than a kilometer before we arrived at David’s hotel. The Pulitzer, a charming and historic gem. True to its reputation, the view from his room was a stunning perspective of the canal, serene and timeless.

After staring through the curtains at the mirror like ripples of the water below, lost in their endless dance, I finally shed my thick woolen overcoat and draped it over a nearby armchair. Turning to face him, I let the words hang heavy in the air, “How long were you planning to run from me?”

This question gave him the briefest almost imperceptible pause as he continued the task of loosening his cufflinks and hanging his coat. “How long was I planning to run?” David repeated, casually removing his silver wrist watch. “Right up until the moment I remembered how bloody persistent you are.”

Before David could drop his cufflinks into the dish, I materialized behind him like a vesper, my hand cupping his chin to tilt his neck, my grip immobilizing his left arm. “You’re toying with me, David,” I murmured, my lips brushing his ear. “Do you remember those nights long ago, when you were still mortal? I warned you then, I am the devil. Shall I show you just how devilish I can be?”

With a smirk, he leaned back into my firm hold. “If this is your idea of foreplay, it’s a little heavy handed.”

With his free arm, he gently removed the hand that was cradling his chin and kissed each knuckle slowly, with seeming reverence. His mouth opened against the slender fingers, hot breath against the cold flesh.

“But then again, subtlety was never really your strong suit.”

He took the entirety of my ring finger into his mouth, pulling it out slowly and methodically. But not before letting it slide against his sharp canine, leaving the tiniest ruby red trail in its wake. 

“Well?” He asked, his voice low and smooth, in an almost demanding whisper. He flexed experimentally against me and the iron grip on his left arm, finding no give in the vice like control. “I’m waiting.”

My actions were meant to scare and shock him, yet lately David has surprised me with a brazenness I never saw in him as an old man. I found myself wondering if he understood that no amount of struggling could challenge my power. Surely, he must have sensed it.

The faint scratch his teeth left on my finger had healed almost instantly, yet I offered my wrist to his mouth with quiet tenderness. Still bound, he pressed a soft kiss to the steady rhythm of my pulse before sinking his flawless canines into my flesh. He drank deeply, each mouthful brimming with greed.

As he eagerly drained me, I pressed fervent kisses to his exposed, now-warm neck. Tasting him, breathing him in. The night I brought him into the blood had been rushed and thick with emotion, but this moment was deliberate, charged, and unrelenting.

I let my hand, which had been gripping his arm, wander down his side until it found the edge of his shirt and the toned skin beneath. He shuddered but remained still. Pulling him deeper into my embrace, I bit gently into his neck, making him moan. What lovely sounds.

***

Pure ecstasy. There was really no other way to describe it. The teeth piercing his skin, the hot mouth pressed against him. The precise, crushing grip as he pulled out David’s very essence in long, throbbing drafts.  

He clung to the wrist like a drowning man to driftwood, as if only the pulse beneath his lips could anchor him. The blood permeated him completely; the thick electric warmth filling his insides from his toes to the top of his head. He never wanted to let go. Eyes tightly shut, he began to see a vision of himself, the broken mortal man, covered in his own blood, lying on the floor. His caramel skin glistening with a mix of sweat and sand. Eyes rolled back, heartbeat slowing to that fatal rhythm. Is this what he looked like through Lestat’s eyes, as he lay there? As David saw a pale hand reach down and longingly stroke his cheek, a mix of his maker’s feelings were passing through. He felt intense love. He felt contented domination. He felt possession, body and soul. 

Delicious, this private communion they shared.

Slowly, reluctantly, he withdrew this lethal kiss; and immediately wanted more. He felt the stinging absence harshly. But no, mustn't be too hasty. That would quite ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?

The cold hand moved up his side to his stomach, and he sucked in a sharp breath as the pointed edge of the nails raked along his abdomen, and then continued their exploration up to his chest.

***

I drew back, savoring the taste as the intensity coursed through me, forcing my eyes to flutter shut. A tremor escaped with my exhale, and I reached for David’s shoulder, turning him gently to face me.

Those two inches he had on me felt more irritating than ever as I brushed my fingers against his striking chin, tilting his head toward mine. Even the blood couldn’t dull his glow, his mocha toned skin shimmered under the light, accentuating every detail. We were impossibly close, close enough to trace the golden freckles scattered in his deep coffee eyes, close enough to feel his breath ghosting over my lips.

Black curls fell across his forehead, grazing his thick, unruly brows. His shoulders stretched wider than mine, his frame just a touch larger, a bronzed Adonis frozen in perpetual youth. I couldn’t help but smile, a soft laugh slipping out as I imagined how we might appear to humans.

I lingered for a moment, my heart pulling me closer, until I finally kissed him.

No more of these teasing games. I gestured toward the bedroom, and drew him by the hand. He hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty shadowing his face. “No,” I said softly, the words weighted with knowing. “I understand what you're thinking. And no, it can never be as it once was, when you walked the earth as a mortal man.”

Standing before the bed, his face still laden with questions and searching, I thoughtfully undid each minuscule mother-of-pearl button on his virgin-wool Armani shirt. I discarded it into a heap, then pressed him to sit, straddling his lap.

***

He would be lying if he said he’d never found this creature maddeningly handsome. Nothing could be further from the truth. He would especially be lying if he said his old heart hadn’t skipped a few beats every time that devilish smile in patent leather boots graced his office windowsill. Lestat possessed this kind of animal magnetism that seemed to draw everyone to him. Trouble was he knew it, too. That pair of bewitchingly blue eyes didn’t help either. Of course he’d never imagined taking him like this; he could never have comprehended the raw passion that rolled out of him for this damnable being. 

Unsatisfied with the space between them, he pushed a lock of blond hair behind his ear, took his face into both of his hands and drew him into a rather worshipful kiss.

Without warning and with a preternatural speed, he then flipped them both, slamming Lestat down onto the bed beneath him and quickly pinned his wrists down above his head.

***

“Now stay.”

***

This sudden shift from the passive to the predator was obviously a bit surprising to Lestat, who didn’t look at all displeased with the turn of events. Those same dazzling eyes peered up at him now, from a face framed with a disheveled lion’s mane spread around him. Someone could easily mistake him for an angel … someone who didn’t know better. 

At once he began to nestle into his exposed neck, the tantalizing flesh visible under the hem of his silken collar. He sank his teeth in without permission or hesitation, and once the first hot gush filled his mouth, he let out a near feral moan. He could have sworn he heard a whisper of something in French by his ear.  A plea, a prayer, a curse? He couldn’t tell. He was too distracted by the twin pleasure and pain of the claws digging into his back, which were surely drawing blood.His face now drenched, he pulled away long enough to grind out, “Good boy,” and pressed a deep kiss to Lestat’s full lips. Biting into his own tongue, he ignored the ache and let his blood pass into the eager mouth beneath him, who pressed back just as forcefully to receive the offering.Finally, he sat up and settled back onto his knees, still straddling the hips beneath him, wiping his face with the back of his wrist. 

***

“Your shirt. Take it off,” he ordered, the command dripping with old authority.

Defy or obey? With anyone else my instinct is to scoff at demands but with him, I always find myself heedlessly bending to his will. Maybe it was his accent, the slow command in his cadence. Or maybe I am simply drawn to the way a man moves when he knows exactly what he wants. Regardless, my shirt landed in the same pile as his.

"Does any of this atone for stealing you into darkness?" I asked, my lips curling into a smile too sly to suppress, my voice tinged with mockery. He studied me from above, his face impossible to decipher. In moments like this, I wonder if my reckless tongue will ever learn silence.

I reached to brush at the red smear near his mouth. “Michelangelo himself could have carved you from stone.”, I marveled, then chuckled at myself, “Ah, but you’re my very own David.”

“I may be your David, but you’re the one made of marble.” 

***

He whispered as he planted slow kisses in a long line up from the navel, appreciating each hardened muscle of the stomach. Then up the solar plexus, stopping briefly to admire the perfectly chiseled chest, and continued his travels until his mouth landed on the rather prominent Adam’s apple. Just a tiny bite, he thought absently.  His lips pressed a kiss to it, then hovered his head above Lestat’s own, his gaze devout and unflinching, asking silent permission to drink from him again. 

As if his senses had only just been returned to him, and his lust leashed yet still wanting more. As if he had only just remembered this beautiful god beneath him had been allowing himself to be ravished and to be taken. As if this powerful creature couldn’t have stopped him at any time he chose. This fierce lion pretending to be tame.

Having received no such refusal, he gently bent down into the crook of Lestat’s neck, running his tongue slowly along the place where the wounds had already healed, sealing it with a kiss, if only to savor the remaining blood.

Good god, his blood. It sang to him as it slipped over his tongue. It was like drinking fire smothered in velvet. Unbearably rich and heady, it lit up every nerve, and was tinged with an ancient heat that permeated every mouthful and crawled down his spine.

In his blood he also had tasted the things his very soul cried out for; to be adored, to be forgiven. And he did forgive him, one drop at a time.

A warm tear rolled down his cheek, wholly unbidden. His heart fluttered in his chest when he saw those pearly white canines break into a sincere smile, and when Lestat placed his hand on David’s face in a fond, familiar gesture, he felt it might soon entirely explode. 

The thirst still gripping him, he made his way to the unstained side of the throat, breath heavy against his sire’s skin for one restrained moment until the teeth broke through once again. 

After what felt like a small eternity, his eyes slowly opened, quickly adjusting to the light. It was then he realized that they were no longer on the bed, but in fact floating a few feet above it. His arm still wrapped tightly around Lestat’s waist, the other cradling the back of his head, entwined in the mass of blond hair. How long they had been like this, he did not know. The only thing he knew at that moment was the shuddering demand of their embrace, locked in their beautiful unholy union.

***

Charred flesh. The stench clawed at my throat, filling my lungs with its acrid weight. Heat pressed against me from all sides, merciless and unrelenting. I tried desperately to turn this way or that to escape the oppressive heat. Somewhere beyond the flames, Antoine’s screams tore through the roar of the fire.  

“Louis!” My voice surged above the inferno, raw with anguish. “My god, Louis, look what she’s done to us!” Oxygen starved pants grew ever faster, trembling on the edge of pure panic. The world blurred, dimming, and then black.  

Silence.  

Dirt.

And then, a rhythm. Out of the earth, deep and rising, a pounding of vibrations that carried vigor and hope.

“I am evil, evil!” My scream tore through the crowd, swallowed by the blinding glare of the lights. No faces, only brilliance. Only the flood of pure adrenaline surging through me. Blood-sweat slicked my skin, fangs gleaming on the jumbotrons. And they love me. The bass throbbed, a living thing inside my ribs, as I rose from the stage, arms outstretched, pale and commanding.  

“You are all my children. Tonight, we are one body, one soul.” Fading. The lights dimmed.

"Why are you showing me this? What’s your point, Lestat?" His voice was distant, tugging me back to the lavish embrace of the Pulitzer’s gilded room. I blinked, vision swimming, vaguely aware of how ruthlessly determined David was, how wholly intent on draining me dry. That’s right, take it all, I thought, fingers threading through his dark waves, as if in silent permission.  

”Why show you these things?" I smirked. "Why not? You’re my only friend, after all." He said nothing. Only tightened his grip, binding us closer as we hung, suspended, intertwined.

A woman’s voice, deep and husky, calls out my name. Not a cry, not a command. Just an acknowledgement. Her accent is thick, French laced with the old-country lilt of Italy. She used to tell me stories of Naples, Gaeta, Rome, how she missed them, how they lived within her even here. But she will not stay. No. She drifts like smoke, untethered, untouchable, dissolving before she can be held. Slipping beyond the reach of my thoughts.

Nicki. Nicholas, lost in the frenzy of playing his violin. The endless black ocean stretched out in all directions, swallowing the horizon.  My second most regrettable mistake, though hardly the last. The devil’s road teaches harsh lessons; some souls are not meant for this world. Though I can truly imagine his fate was set long before my undoing, its course indifferent to my hands.

”I am the devil, David. You were never wrong.” I said, pulling him into my embrace. I take what I want, without hesitation, without discretion.  Cradling his larger frame against me, I marveled at the fragile warmth we shared. 

“Needing you was never in doubt. Wanting you was absolute. But beyond that, I knew… you would be extraordinary.”

His heart pounded against my chest, and he continued to press soft kisses to my ear.

David paused and brought his face up to meet mine. He looked hard into my eyes for a long moment, caressing my hair with a few fingers and furrowing his brow with a somewhat troubled expression, before he began to softly speak. 

“I thought I knew who I was, before you. But I think, if I were being honest with myself, that I’ve been yours from the moment we met,” he punctuated this with a few kisses to my cheek and down my throat. “I don’t know what that makes me… besides completely and utterly daft,” he trailed off, letting out a little resigned, half broken laugh. 

I watched the gradual realization dawn over him that we were in fact no longer suspended in the air. I saw him glance around and down at the blood soaked sheets beneath us, the only literal dark spot around the otherwise pristine room.

Louis once said to me, “You hurt everyone you love. That’s your curse, not the Dark Gift.” I’ve never heard truer words.

My love runs black and red. A venom in the veins of those I hold dearest. It poisons. It chokes.

Beyond the heavily draped windows, Amsterdam stirred. The slow symphony of a world waking hummed in the distance. David again met my eyes with a soft sigh and a somewhat relenting smile. He needed sleep. The morning light shifted, nearly imperceptibly, and he let his head fall to my shoulder. He’ll leave me tomorrow, I thought, twisting a brown curl around my ashen, ice-cold finger. The realization burned in my chest, and tears gathered, stinging my eyes and threatening to trace unwanted paths down my cheeks.

On top of me, his breath rose and fell in slow rhythm, his limbs heavy in the stillness of our deathlike slumber. No one would disturb us. I glanced toward the drapes once more, assuring myself my young fledgling was safe from the coming light. I had another hour, just one more hour to hold him like this before the sun claimed me too. Leaning close, I whispered to him with every ounce of tenderness I had left, “To be loved by me is to be kissed by death and told that it is devotion.”

[thy-fearful-symmetry]

My home. The Quarter sleeps in its hush, disturbed only by the occasional drunk staggering away from Rue Bourbon. Too much time has slipped between my last return and now. But when I am gone, she whispers my name, summoning me back.

@thy-fearful-symmetry David insists I carry this little glass-and-metal phone, his tether to my movements. I misplace them every other month or so, but I’ve found a use for it nonetheless. Taking small photographs, something I could never manage easily without daylight. The miracles of this modern age.

[thy-fearful-symmetry]

“Yes, a right proper twentieth century ‘high and tight,’ obviously. I think that would suit you, don’t you agree?” He couldn’t contain his broad smile as he glanced up just in time to see Lestat with his hands protectively spread over his head.

“As for your winning,” David paused, eyeing the board for the briefest moment. “Too dangerous. You know that,” he replied tersely, placing his pawn with precision. “There. A solid, structured advance. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

We immortals tend not to frighten easily, but even so I knew he couldn’t have sensed me enter our New Orleans flat. Louis, David and I had been treating this home as our hub since Rio, and though they could easily detect their own comings and goings, I was ever the specter. “David, darling?” I called out, but got no response. It was more than a few hours into the evening so I was sure both him and Louis were surely awake. Perhaps they were both out hunting. Then I caught the glimpse of him in the back parlor. Flushed cheeks, brooding brown eyes darting with preternatural speed over the book before him on the writing desk. I laid a heavy hand on his shoulder almost expecting him to give a start.

“Lestat, you startled me,” he let out a half laugh, briefly glancing up from his book at the figure behind him. “I was actually just thinking of starting up a game,” David said, his eyes now glued back to the pages, motioning to the chess board in the corner by the window. “I’m afraid I may be a bit rusty though. Care to join me?”

[thy-fearful-symmetry]

David glared at him as he walked over and sat before the board, analyzed Lestat’s smug, confident smile and began quickly discerning exactly how this evening was going to go. He started setting up his own side when suddenly he leaned back, and in his most casual, unbothered tone, says “Let’s make this more interesting, shall we?” He absently rolled the black Queen piece around in his fingers as he voiced his proposal. “If I win, you have to be my personal valet for an entire day. Butler. Manservant. Whatever you prefer.” He watched as Lestat’s mouth dropped open slightly at the idea, and smiled as he added, “and you have to do it properly - no dramatics, no complaining, no shortcuts.” He waited for this to sink in before dealing the finishing blow. “Oh, and you must cut your hair.”

We immortals tend not to frighten easily, but even so I knew he couldn’t have sensed me enter our New Orleans flat. Louis, David and I had been treating this home as our hub since Rio, and though they could easily detect their own comings and goings, I was ever the specter. “David, darling?” I called out, but got no response. It was more than a few hours into the evening so I was sure both him and Louis were surely awake. Perhaps they were both out hunting. Then I caught the glimpse of him in the back parlor. Flushed cheeks, brooding brown eyes darting with preternatural speed over the book before him on the writing desk. I laid a heavy hand on his shoulder almost expecting him to give a start.

“Lestat, you startled me,” he let out a half laugh, briefly glancing up from his book at the figure behind him. “I was actually just thinking of starting up a game,” David said, his eyes now glued back to the pages, motioning to the chess board in the corner by the window. “I’m afraid I may be a bit rusty though. Care to join me?”

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We immortals tend not to frighten easily, but even so I knew he couldn’t have sensed me enter our New Orleans flat. Louis, David and I had been treating this home as our hub since Rio, and though they could easily detect their own comings and goings, I was ever the specter. “David, darling?” I called out, but got no response. It was more than a few hours into the evening so I was sure both him and Louis were surely awake. Perhaps they were both out hunting. Then I caught the glimpse of him in the back parlor. Flushed cheeks, brooding brown eyes darting with preternatural speed over the book before him on the writing desk. I laid a heavy hand on his shoulder almost expecting him to give a start.

“Lestat, you startled me,” he let out a half laugh, briefly glancing up from his book at the figure behind him. “I was actually just thinking of starting up a game,” David said, his eyes now glued back to the pages, motioning to the chess board in the corner by the window. “I’m afraid I may be a bit rusty though. Care to join me?”

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David gripped his cup, the steam still rising from it. He watched as the reflection of the candles danced on the shining surface of the drink and the scent of cinnamon and clove surrounded him.

“We haven’t had much time alone together, you and I. Not since you took in Amel. And I have a thousand questions, naturally, but I must know… do you think Amel chose you? For a reason? Or was it just chance that made you the Core?”

Lestat pondered that for the briefest moment before he replied.

“Oh, I think he chose me. I don’t know why, exactly. Maybe he saw something in me - a kindred spirit, or just someone reckless enough to take this on. Or maybe he was just desperate, and I was the easiest option.”

David let this sink in, nodding in agreement as if this made all the sense in the world.

He suddenly leaned forward in his chair, his brown eyes wide with intrigue.

“What does it feel like to have Amel inside you now? Is it a constant presence, or does it come and go?”

Lestat felt the warm sensation on his neck as he spoke. “He’s almost always there, I can physically feel him - a whisper, a heartbeat, a weight I can’t shake. Sometimes it feels like I’m being watched by a presence that knows me better than I know myself.”

There he was, standing on the open balcony, the rolling French countryside spreading out before him and the luminous night sky scattered with stars everywhere above him. It was a quiet night, a cool breeze was rolling in and the first flakes of the season were beginning to make their descent. His old, dear friend. His maker. His Prince. His Lestat. And now holder of the sacred Core.

David had been watching him all evening, dancing and twirling in the grand ballroom, ever the gentleman in his finest garments of blue brocade and lace. Of course many of their tribe wished for the chance to dance with the Prince, vying for his attention, and so he entertained many this night and every night. The Chateau was becoming quite the bustling place, bursting with guests and endless activity from sunset to sunrise. The music continued and after some time and much effort, he watched Lestat finally excuse himself to the balcony. David followed, seizing the opportunity and slowly approaching him from behind.

He was beautiful, standing there with his back to the room, hands spread out onto the balustrade, appearing to quietly survey his kingdom. The snow was starting to steadily collect in the golden strands of his hair.

“Your Highness,” he lilted, nudging in beside him closely as he took his Prince’s hand into his own and lifted it up to plant a kiss onto the back. To this, Lestat only smiled and lifted a curious eyebrow.

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A fresco of a young girl

First century A. D.

Villa San Marco, Stabiae

Image Taken From https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2009/07/23/arts/0725-conw_4.html and Foto Archivio N. Longobardi

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David accepted the warm beverage with a quick thanks to Joel, glad to have its warmth to knock some of the chill from his fingers.

“This is beautiful, Lestat. Truly remarkable… this is the exact establishment you visited often in your youth? The same one you spent time with your Nicolas, this very room?” He pondered the question out loud more to himself than anyone, appreciating both the obvious finery of the restoration and especially the personal significance for Lestat.

There he was, standing on the open balcony, the rolling French countryside spreading out before him and the luminous night sky scattered with stars everywhere above him. It was a quiet night, a cool breeze was rolling in and the first flakes of the season were beginning to make their descent. His old, dear friend. His maker. His Prince. His Lestat. And now holder of the sacred Core.

David had been watching him all evening, dancing and twirling in the grand ballroom, ever the gentleman in his finest garments of blue brocade and lace. Of course many of their tribe wished for the chance to dance with the Prince, vying for his attention, and so he entertained many this night and every night. The Chateau was becoming quite the bustling place, bursting with guests and endless activity from sunset to sunrise. The music continued and after some time and much effort, he watched Lestat finally excuse himself to the balcony. David followed, seizing the opportunity and slowly approaching him from behind.

He was beautiful, standing there with his back to the room, hands spread out onto the balustrade, appearing to quietly survey his kingdom. The snow was starting to steadily collect in the golden strands of his hair.

“Your Highness,” he lilted, nudging in beside him closely as he took his Prince’s hand into his own and lifted it up to plant a kiss onto the back. To this, Lestat only smiled and lifted a curious eyebrow.

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Avec Christine, on a fêté nos 40 ans d'amitié en faisant un voyage de 15 jours en Sicile. Nous voici maintenant à Piazza Armerina, à l'intérieur des terres.

Non loin, la Villa del Casale (bâtie fin IIIe s. apr. J-C.) aux mosaïques romaines grandioses (3500m² de surface !!).

Ici, la Salle d'Arion, avec plein de monstres marins, tritons, hippocampes, dauphins et tigres marins,... Je supposent qu'au milieu, ce sont Neptune et Amphitrite ? Et Arion jouant de la lyre sur son dauphin sauve(te)ur...

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Saint Louis

I don’t know if it’s just me but in my head, book Louis IS series Louis now. My art :) 🖤💚🖤

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“No, I’m afraid I didn’t see anything. Not Amel, anyway. At least I don’t think that I did. But I do have some further questions for you. If you would indulge me,” David looked back at the warmly illuminated and lively dancing behind them. The festivities could easily continue well into the night until they drew to a close nearly an hour or so before dawn. Farther inside toward the entrance to the ballroom, seated on some chairs were Cyril and Thorne, and when David gave them a deliberate glance, he received a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Your entourage seems distracted enough. How about a change of scenery?”

And with that, his feet lifted from the ground as he began to drift upward, extending an open hand for Lestat to join him.

There he was, standing on the open balcony, the rolling French countryside spreading out before him and the luminous night sky scattered with stars everywhere above him. It was a quiet night, a cool breeze was rolling in and the first flakes of the season were beginning to make their descent. His old, dear friend. His maker. His Prince. His Lestat. And now holder of the sacred Core.

David had been watching him all evening, dancing and twirling in the grand ballroom, ever the gentleman in his finest garments of blue brocade and lace. Of course many of their tribe wished for the chance to dance with the Prince, vying for his attention, and so he entertained many this night and every night. The Chateau was becoming quite the bustling place, bursting with guests and endless activity from sunset to sunrise. The music continued and after some time and much effort, he watched Lestat finally excuse himself to the balcony. David followed, seizing the opportunity and slowly approaching him from behind.

He was beautiful, standing there with his back to the room, hands spread out onto the balustrade, appearing to quietly survey his kingdom. The snow was starting to steadily collect in the golden strands of his hair.

“Your Highness,” he lilted, nudging in beside him closely as he took his Prince’s hand into his own and lifted it up to plant a kiss onto the back. To this, Lestat only smiled and lifted a curious eyebrow.

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David studied him a moment more, before taking the hand he had pointed at his face and brought it up to cradle his own cheek. He closed his eyes and exhaled a small sigh, the visible breath leaving him in an icy vapor. He then moved Lestat’s thumb into his mouth, slowly, as his Prince looked on in perfect bemusement.

One sharp prick from his teeth and the blood filled his mouth, and it tasted like raw power and rebellion, brimming with flavour like the finest wine, but interwoven now with a slight lingering heat. He swirled his tongue over the digit, savouring the last few flows the small wound could offer, before pulling it gently out of his mouth. He very politely licked his canine clean.

“Hmm. You still taste the same, at least.”

There he was, standing on the open balcony, the rolling French countryside spreading out before him and the luminous night sky scattered with stars everywhere above him. It was a quiet night, a cool breeze was rolling in and the first flakes of the season were beginning to make their descent. His old, dear friend. His maker. His Prince. His Lestat. And now holder of the sacred Core.

David had been watching him all evening, dancing and twirling in the grand ballroom, ever the gentleman in his finest garments of blue brocade and lace. Of course many of their tribe wished for the chance to dance with the Prince, vying for his attention, and so he entertained many this night and every night. The Chateau was becoming quite the bustling place, bursting with guests and endless activity from sunset to sunrise. The music continued and after some time and much effort, he watched Lestat finally excuse himself to the balcony. David followed, seizing the opportunity and slowly approaching him from behind.

He was beautiful, standing there with his back to the room, hands spread out onto the balustrade, appearing to quietly survey his kingdom. The snow was starting to steadily collect in the golden strands of his hair.

“Your Highness,” he lilted, nudging in beside him closely as he took his Prince’s hand into his own and lifted it up to plant a kiss onto the back. To this, Lestat only smiled and lifted a curious eyebrow.

[thy-fearful-symmetry]

There he was, standing on the open balcony, the rolling French countryside spreading out before him and the luminous night sky scattered with stars everywhere above him. It was a quiet night, a cool breeze was rolling in and the first flakes of the season were beginning to make their descent. His old, dear friend. His maker. His Prince. His Lestat. And now holder of the sacred Core.

David had been watching him all evening, dancing and twirling in the grand ballroom, ever the gentleman in his finest garments of blue brocade and lace. Of course many of their tribe wished for the chance to dance with the Prince, vying for his attention, and so he entertained many this night and every night. The Chateau was becoming quite the bustling place, bursting with guests and endless activity from sunset to sunrise. The music continued and after some time and much effort, he watched Lestat finally excuse himself to the balcony. David followed, seizing the opportunity and slowly approaching him from behind.

He was beautiful, standing there with his back to the room, hands spread out onto the balustrade, appearing to quietly survey his kingdom. The snow was starting to steadily collect in the golden strands of his hair.

“Your Highness,” he lilted, nudging in beside him closely as he took his Prince’s hand into his own and lifted it up to plant a kiss onto the back. To this, Lestat only smiled and lifted a curious eyebrow.

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Lestat - My husband requested this piece. We’ve been Anne Rice fans for like 25 years 😅 don’t guess my age. This is my version of a classical book Lestat mixed with Sam Reid’s gorgeous face.

Also…I’ve been… MIA lately. Sorry! I’m back :) hopefully better than before. Sometimes you just have to go away. If there was anyone that I made upset by this please forgive me. I needed to go on a journey to figure some things out. Love you all!

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From our stacks: Illuminated letter 'D' from Cranbrook Papers By the Cranbrook Society, Detroit, Michigan, U.S.A. First Book. Printed and Illumined at The Cranbrook Press, 65 Shelby Street, Detroit, Michigan, U.S.A., and finished on the 31st day of August, 1901.

"And the illuminated letters, borders, and other ornaments used in Cranbrook Paper are copies from or made after the works of ancient masters as found contained in rare books and missals of the Fourteenth and Fifteenth centuries, no attempt having been made to modernize either the letters or other devices or to introduce coloring effects to please personal tastes. The examples herein contained of this interesting art are in strict harmony with the originals after which they were created."

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David felt his body jump slightly, unable to stop the brief physical recoil at the sudden movement. He looked down at the shining piece of crystal now resting in his palm. The speed at which this creature moves, he thought. Incredible. Simply incredible. His nerves were still a bit shot, but he thought he had handled these encounters fairly well up until now, especially having thus far had no direct contact with the vampires.

He glanced back up to meet his guests’ expant gaze. David let out a slight exasperated sigh. “Lestat, you must know very well that I can’t simply walk into the vaults and start taking things, as much as I would like to tell you that I could. Even as Superior General, my rank doesn’t afford me the right to remove whatever I feel like. Would you have me personally escort you there myself, in front of every camera we have to let you pick things over? I understand that some of them may be your former things, but they are well documented Talamasca property now. There are some rules that even I am incapable of bending. I’m sorry, my friend, I really am.”

David sat behind his large old mahogany desk, partially hidden behind a large pile of books stacked all along the surface. He sighed and pushed the reading glasses back up his nose. These old volumes held so many highlights and dog ears and bookmarks, to his own detriment, it was often difficult to ascertain the exact place he meant to find. The crackle of a fire, the soft turning of pages, the occasional creak of his old chair. Business as usual.

A sudden cool breeze blew in through the open window closest to his desk, and David shuddered, cursing silently to himself that he left his jumper at home that day.

“Hello, David.”

That smooth voice, the French accent still tinged on every word, had been a more frequent presence these days. Lestat was there, sitting in his windowsill, one leg cocked up on his knee and a big smile on his face. He seemed to be decked out in his usual long jacket and boots, and his hair had that usual windswept yet handsome look it always had whenever he decided to pay a visit to his office. It had been nearly a week since he had seen him last.

“Lestat,” he said with an air of genuine pleasure, returning back to his overwhelming book pile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

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“We have lots of items that belong to you. And to numerous other beings such as yourself. The vault is teeming with hundreds of relics and artifacts. What items might you be referring to? You’ll have to be more specific.”

With a sly smile, he stood and walked over to the modest bar he kept near his desk, and began to pour himself a glass of scotch.

“Keeps the old blood warm and flowing,” he remarked, pouring himself a modest amount and briefly glancing over to Lestat.

“I don’t mean to be rude, and I would offer you one, but… “, he shrugged, letting the insinuation simmer.

David sat behind his large old mahogany desk, partially hidden behind a large pile of books stacked all along the surface. He sighed and pushed the reading glasses back up his nose. These old volumes held so many highlights and dog ears and bookmarks, to his own detriment, it was often difficult to ascertain the exact place he meant to find. The crackle of a fire, the soft turning of pages, the occasional creak of his old chair. Business as usual.

A sudden cool breeze blew in through the open window closest to his desk, and David shuddered, cursing silently to himself that he left his jumper at home that day.

“Hello, David.”

That smooth voice, the French accent still tinged on every word, had been a more frequent presence these days. Lestat was there, sitting in his windowsill, one leg cocked up on his knee and a big smile on his face. He seemed to be decked out in his usual long jacket and boots, and his hair had that usual windswept yet handsome look it always had whenever he decided to pay a visit to his office. It had been nearly a week since he had seen him last.

“Lestat,” he said with an air of genuine pleasure, returning back to his overwhelming book pile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”