Lestat here. Many of you have asked me whether or not I have any regrets. At first I ignored this question, because I am constitutionally opposed to the very idea of regret. But the more I saw the question, the more I thought about the whole matter. And I think there is indeed one thing in my life that I actively regret. I regret that during the 19th century when I lived in New Orleans with my vampire companions, Louis and Claudia, I did not tell them more about our origins, and about the vampires of the old world. I thought at the time that I was protecting them from secrets that could only hurt them, sheltering them in a wilderness and paradise that belonged exclusively to the three of us. But this was all wrong. I should have known that Louis and Claudia needed to know about the origins of our kind, needed to know where we’d come from, needed to know whether or not there were others out there, and I should have anticipated and encouraged their questions rather than keeping them at a distance from myself. Of course one reason I made this awful mistake is that I did know secrets about vampires that I was bound by an oath not to reveal. But I could have told Louis and Claudia more than I did. I could have respected their need for knowledge. I truly regret that I did not. As many of you know, our little coven family came to disaster, and I think I had a hand in that disaster, by not giving my beloved fledglings more information and insight into what we were. —- I’ll be back later to answer more questions.