I am alone, I was thinking. I am alone. It seemed just, perfectly, and so to have a pleasing, inevitable form. And I pictured myself then forever alone, as if on gaining that vampire strength the night of my death I had left Lestat and never looked back from him and anyone else. As if the night had said to me, ‘You are the night and the night alone understands you and enfolds you in its arms.’ One with the shadows. Without nightmare. An inexplicable peace.

What is the most romantic gesture you have ever received? Given?

a-misunderstanding-my-love:

Once, in Paris, after finding Lestat in bed with one of the actresses in the theatre, we had a fantastic knock-down drag-out fight, ending with him sporting a black eye and me kicking him out of the flat. 

For three weeks, he slept in his dressing room and busked daily in the boulevard, foregoing wine and any other extravagance in order to buy me more music lessons with Mozart as an apology. 

This may not sound like much, but if you know Lestat, you’ll know that the will power required for such a gift was…well, impressive, to say the least. 

As for myself… I do not know. I am not one who specializes in romantic gestures. I’m not terribly fond of them. 

Dear Santa-Lestat. I’ve been reading your books since I was twelve and they’ve been helping me cope through everything. Well, my father died last month, my best friend died two days ago. I don’t really know what to do anymore. Everything’s been too much. I’ve been trying to read your books still, but stress is a fickle thing. All I know is that some cosmic power has it out for me. What do you think? Love, Ishmael. <3

♛*Lestat leans back in his chair, cracks his knuckles, licks his fangs. Leans forward, a look of concern etched across his face. Begins to write*

image

Ishmael, it sounds so egotistical for me to recommend that you go back and read my books, but those are my words of comfort, you can glean from them the messages that speak to you. Sometimes I’m rather explicit in my advice, this is relevant here:

“… I was worn and miserable and I loved crying. I couldn’t do anything else. I gave in to it fully. I felt that profound release of the utterly grief-stricken. I didn’t give a damn who saw or heard. I cried and cried.

Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people have to learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry, there’s nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don’t know the trick. It’s like whistling or singing.” me, Memnoch the Devil. [X]

Read The Vampire Lestat and Memnoch the Devil, two of my books that I believe would be helpful to you… and imagine that I am there, with an arm wrapped around you, reading those words aloud. 

Santa Lestat hears you. There is no easy solution.

Sometimes I feel that some cosmic power has it out for me, as well. Are we to cry out that it’s unfair? Yes. But more than that, we have to kill the wolves. Metaphorically speaking.

Find strength where you can, and spread kindness and goodness to your family and friends. This will help fill the void that you feel. 

*embraces tightly*

♛Ishmael, are you aware that your name means God hears? Despite having been to heaven and hell, I’m still not sure if I believe in God, and whether if he hears, does he listen? There is a distinction. With a religious name like that, I would guess that your family did believe, and perhaps, so do you. At least in the existence of God, if not the fact that he is a listener

I’m not calling myself a God, but I hear you. I’m listening. 

So, not a God, although I have had Papal aspirations. Perhaps that’s more to do with my wanting/needing to be given a place, a reason to exist, and Popes have the advantage in that it is their job to do Good, and encourage others to do the same. 

Reading my books means that you’ve heard my words. Twelve! I may have just been enlightened myself at that age, at the monastery. It’s a young age to be reading the kind of grotesquery that is my life story, but the good outweighs the bad, and the overall message I would want my story to convey is for Louis to quit it with the religious guilt that follows any carnal, romantic, or platonic satisfaction!!! *ahem*… that life deals us different hands and it is possible to survive, even thrive, in the face of searing adversity. To hear that my stories have helped you cope with life’s obstacles is proof that I’ve done some good in this world, which was always my mission, even as a child in a monastery. 

I’ve lost many people I’ve loved. I’ve led many people to their deaths. Real or not, it was absolutely terrifying to be confronted with the souls of those I’ve killed. 

How does one deal with such great losses… a parent is someone who brought you into this world. That’s why I had to ask Louis to help my own father, ease his suffering, that was something I could not do myself. I’m still grateful for that.

A best friend is the family you claim for yourself, completely irreplaceable.

Cherish the memories, and know that you have room in your heart for more joy than you can imagine.

I felt a sudden sagging, a complete exhaustion, and a despair.

Typical.

I rolled over on my face and tucked my arm under my head and started crying like a child. I was perishing from exhaustion. I was worn and miserable and I loved crying. I couldn’t do anything else. I gave in to it fully. I felt that profound release of the utterly grief-stricken. I didn’t give a damn who saw or heard. I cried and cried.

Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people have to learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry, there’s nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don’t know the trick. It’s like whistling or singing.

Whatever the case, I was too miserable to take much consolation just from feeling good for a moment in a welter of shudders and salted, bloodstained tears.

Lestat de Lioncourt, Memnoch the Devil

soundsof71:

Elton John, 1974, with his SEQUINED PIANO

vagabonddaniel: #there’s a reason they hired him to write the lestat musical #elton john #not even ooc tbh