viaticumforthemarquise:

Dying in Paris was infinitely better than dying in the Auvergne. 

And no, it does not. That vow was a vow not of my choosing, a coercion from my mother to a man I could not love, who chose to treat me like chattle and violently abuse my youngest son. 

My greatest regret regarding him is that Lestat ever found the letters I’d hidden regarding him—to see my son return to his abuser to “rescue” him caused me more pain than I can describe.