An alternate book cover
Задумка в том чтобы пластиковая упаковка 18+ скрывала частично настоящую обложку. Идея взята с листа #InktoberVC А текст с официальной обложки У меня, на жаль, не хватает способностей, чтобы сделать такое на бумаге тушью как положено. Надеюсь, кого-то вдохновит на нормальное исполнение)
[^the only twitter handles I came up w/ for him were too dirty bc the original had a curse word in it so he has a scribble instead OH WELL]
JSYK my posting has dramatically increased here bc of #InktoberVC, I’m tracking that tag, I see the fresh stuff in it -wooo!- and I’ll be queuing it up for rebageling here.
So if you don’t want an avalanche of fanworks, you can unfollow me for the month bc I’m increasing my posts to accommodate it all RIGHT HERE. And the fanart that’s been posted recently, and digging up old faves if I want to bc reasons.
Never forget that Lestat risked exposure of some kind, in front of the men he was with after buying things for family, to quickly and frighteningly examine a rat’s little feet.
Letters. Letters from everyone I have loved, of course, and I have many of them stored in a metal strongbox under the bed: Gabrielle, David, Armand, Marius, etc. Words scratched onto paper where no one can take them back, no one can accuse me of making them up or exaggerating the words uttered.
-pause-
But the real objet d’obsession?
There is a box that is…hidden from me, tucked under a floorboard in the office (remember, that room once was Louis’ bedroom). In it are letters to me from Louis. Written over a century ago, on parchment that might crumple in your hand had it not been sealed in a box for so long. His beautiful copperplate hand, neat as his tutors intended it to be, writing words meant for me. Letters never sent, if you will, letters I’m not meant to know exist. Love letters, letters written in a blind rage, sensual confessions, everyday observations.
I’m waiting for the night he chooses to share them with me, but I know it might never come. Does he even remember that they are there? It may be that he thinks them burned long ago–though if Claudia’s diary might survive, why not these?
When we’ve had a particularly cruel argument, when we’ve crawled our way to Hell and back again, when we’ve clawed each other down to the quick, I go and dig them out again. His centuries-old innocence is a balm to my heart.
-shrugs-
It’s stupid, and he’d be furious if he knew. He’d not speak to me for months, frankly, and I’d deserve it.
…But I do treasure them, especially when his voice feels far away to me, or when we are separated. There, contained in parchment, is the person Louis once was: a young man who was furious and confused and sometimes in love. And I’m so happy that he still exists, even if it’s only in a box under the floorboards.
I-want-my-IWTV 
