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.