dellabop:

Victorian glass casket; child’s

“She
wanted a coffin of her own now, which left me more wounded than I would let her
see…

We were
to go to the coffinmaker’s. A play, a tragedy in one act: I to leave her in his
little parlor and confide to him in the anteroom that she was to die. Talk of
love, she must have the best, but she must not know;
and the coffinmaker, shaken with the tragedy of it, must make it for her,
picturing her laid there on the white satin, dabbing a tear from his eye
despite all the years…

`But
why must she die?’ he begged me, as if I were God who ordained it. `Her heart,
she cannot live,’ I said, the words taking on for me a peculiar power, a
disturbing resonance.

…And
there the coffin lay in our bedroom, where she watched it often by the hour
when it was new, as if the
thing were moving or alive or unfolded some mystery to her little by little, as
things do which change. But she did not sleep in it. She slept with me.”

– Louis de Pointe du Lac, Interview with the Vampire