Thanks, bb! ❤ Your Lestat knows that revenge is a dish best served cold, with a side of silent treatment. Oooooh.
People Off the Page: As you can see, primusdux’s Lestat and my Lestat are totes sharing the black queen crown ♛, FYI, and it’s totally okay, nothing is gonna get broken.
Lestats playing nicely with himselfs, yayyy! Oh wait…
Since memories triggered by scent are the strongest…
Send my muse a scent and see how they’ll react to it.
Blood is a multitude of things for me. I am not certain I can form them all into words.
Hunting. The heady drum of mortal pulses as I extinguish them, swallowing them down.
Pleasure and pain.
Crimson and copper from the fount of Daniel’s throat and every other place on his body that I can draw from. Love and desire.
The sweet, redolent sting of heat and the first touch of safety when I first tasted Marius.
Fear. Dim shadows. Extinguished light.
As with all things, one could speak forever and only begin to reach the heart of it. Blood is a well of memory, held within our veins, waiting to be tapped.
Lestat is awake again, but this time she hasn’t left. And Armand means to criticize her, demean her of her motherly rights because she has never been there out of all the beings on this planet and above that Lestat could ever cry for. No, it’s always been her. She ignores him when he brings it up, spits acidic words back at him when he comes forward out of the safety of the Rue Royale and joins her soaked form beneath the stormy skies.
“You are a liar and a bitch, for lack of a better word, if you think you can use the veil as an excuse for not hearing him after all these years. Once in the chapel and not again since!”
She is opening her mouth to spit back, or avoid answering to her crime when Armand adds, “It’s hard to believe he still loves you…when no one else has the heart to.”
Thunder cracks in the distance, and Gabrielle, always unnervingly honest in her expressions, is stunned. And yet..so is he. As if they had both opened a plane of understanding in just that moment—yes, you were once unloved by all but him too.
He forgets what happened after the next thunder crack, but his hands are caressing her back and cupping her cheek, her head tilted gently into him when Armand realizes he’s kissing Lestat’s mother. The woman who turned him away after her son redeemed him, their mouths open and wet against each other and devolving into smaller, almost apologetic kisses. He For a brief moment, he forgets he hates this woman down to the very marrow of her bones.
That’s where the memory stops. They’ve never spoken of it, but somehow it pops into Armand’s head whenever she turns her cold, icy glare on him.
I’ve been incredibly nostalgically feeling Vampire Chronicles lately since I’m reading Prince Lestat (which I’m actually enjoying & haven’t finished yet) and where there is VC feelings, there is feelings for Armand, the love of my life.
It’s nice to be able to draw him close to how I see him in my head. I didn’t have the tools to do that at 13.
I-want-my-IWTV 