My skin heals faster than most but I still feel the rage behind each of her claws as they met my flesh. The need of the demons to break free after their lengthy time beneath the rejuvenating soil only heightened by her wolf’s need to taste the blood of those who have called forth her ire.

I stood there and accepted each blow until she tired and I bled. Her howls shaking the foundation of our very home; finally she has a voice of her own, one she had kept hidden deep within her until the day we met, the day we joined, the day she finally became mine.

A thing of myths, that is our history. A love of dreams with a future as uncertain as the rain in the clouds but as certain as the moon in a night sky.

To her I bow and let her strike the iron with her white hot rage when nothing else would help quench her need for vengeance.  To me she bows when nothing but destruction will mend my vampire thirst.

And now, I wake her to dance with me beneath the stars, to run with me and chase the moon. Never before had such an urgent need been felt without it being for the blood.

Now I experience something new…, now I experience the call of one who on so many nights lighted my paths and was my only witness. –Grins through fangs-  But now I worship her as I run with my wolf’s true mate.

-Lestat de Lioncourt

"Wolves may feature in our myths, our history, and our dreams, but they have their own future, their own loves, their own dreams to fulfill." -Anthony Miles 

How to explain what she means to me?

How to explain that without her in my life the others would never have broken through to my heart.

How to explain, how I, an evil creature, one damned for eternity to be a killer, found his way through the darkness and is now a dad to many, mate to one and forever the protector of others other than myself?

I have sired many children. Each I have loved and still do. For each there is not much I will not do as to each I have brought pain and despair at one time or another that still lingers in my memories, whether I admit to it or not.

I am … a father. I have beautiful young ladies who honour me by calling me dad, pére, old man and papa, and honorable young men that do the same. Each a blessing for me and my mate, a blessing I know I would not have if it was not for her.

But how do I explain my mortal child?

How to explain this mortal little 10 year old girl who came in to our lives, my life 18 years ago?

I can retell the story of how Santiago found her bleeding after an attack. I can tell you how she saved our lives on numerous occasions. How we all fell in love with those amber eyes and have never thought of anything but her safety even above our own. How she became the only mortal with whom we all have freely given our blood and have only taken hers so we can keep track of her.  How she became the only human member of a Coven of vampires. How her smile commands a legion of our ancient ones should she fall in to peril or just simply how she holds us all together.

I could tell you all of this but words would fail in explaining just what Satin Rain is to all of us, what she is to me. 

And now that she is about to become a mother our collective hearts and tears all call forth the memory of our little imp.  Collective memories of her running through our homes, jumping in to our arms, asking the million and one questions all children ask and even more.

Would she grow fangs?

Would she be able to fly like us?

Should she sleep during the day so she could be awake by night to play with us? –Chuckles at the memories of her fighting her sleep-

The memories are many but none match the first time she called me papa. The first time she looked to me as any mortal child would look to her mortal father, forgetting the fangs that lay behind the smile.

None had ever pulled from my heart the desperation to be awake during the day just to protect her from skinning her knee as she played.  None ever holding me without fear even during my rages, none before her ever needing to fear that the vampire would break forth and drain her of her innocent blood.

My mortal child, the first to hold my soul within her hands and light the path out of the darkness and she, called me an angel.

My angel, my mortal child, my Satin Rain Thomas de Lioncourt.

Lestat de Lioncourt

We have been doing this for the past couple of weeks; heading to one of the estate’s owned by the coven or one of its members. Each time we find similar scenarios, the scent of vampires unfamiliar to me, the heavy scents of humans and rooms searched but nothing taken.

What could they possibly be looking for we still do not know?

May has offered to shield the estates with demon incantations but this would only hinder our investigations; Armand and, I must add even myself, are adamant that we trap these rogues.  It seems too much of a coincidence that so far each of the estates has somehow been broken into.

But who is so brazen as to enter the home of a vampire?  But more importantly what are they searching for?

None has dared to venture in to an occupied estate and I doubt any would, though a part of me wishes they would tempt their fates,  –fangs descend-  it has been a while since we last chased rogues. The damned fools that dared to disturb my rest. –Sits back to relieve the memories of those nights-

-Breaks from thoughts and returns to writing-

Now it is all different, ma Belle, mon Cara, Satin, Nicolas, Aria and the children all inhabit our homes, they would be put in danger if any tried to come here.  Correction –smiles through fangs, eyes glowing black- THEY would be met with their finality if they did.  Ma Belle, mon Cara, Nicolas, Aria and the children can all take care of themselves. Each can be a formidable match alone, much more so when they join their powers and they would join.  As much as the gallantry in me tries to deny it, they are a force to be reckoned with. And, knowing the estates are demon and Sentinel protected and completely impenetrable must be what has kept them at bay.

Whoever is behind these break-ins must know this, must know the entire force of the Coven will fall upon them if they even tempted to come near our family.  The ancients have been patient enough not to take on this mission themselves but one infraction against contact will certainly break their silence.

-Lestat de Lioncourt

-Begins to write, reads, deletes the message again and starts it over-

Satin,

Mon petite imp, it has been a while since I wrote you a note. Technology has made this eloquent form of communication to lose its beauty non? And yet, I am using a computer to write instead of ink and paper.

–Hesitant to continue as the cell phone tempts to be used. Sighs and continues typing-

How are you mon cherí? I have missed our time together and our conversations. How is Driscoll and Storm?

We are well here. Bebe has been rather sad as of late ma petite and May seems to have found a solution to her ennui, this is why I am writing.  We both wanted to inform you as we know you would want to hear the news immediately. Forgive my not calling you mais, I know I will be hearing from you soon.

Mon imp, we are bringing Brakes to NOLA.

I know you miss him petite and, it seems he too has been missing the both of you. I have been informed that he visits Lions Court almost daily. He has been keeping everyone awake until he exhausts from the howling.  Petite he is too young to be without the proper guidance of wolves however, as May has reminded me, Le Rue and the Plantation House have many wolves on site. 

-Begins to laugh again at the thought of Harley, Cheyenne, Paul, Trent, Rayna and mon petit Tammy Jo helping us raise the wolf pup. Wonders how that conversation will go but continues writing-

Brakes will live at Le Rue until he has matured enough to care for himself; that is but a mere couple of months.  You can come visit him here often or we can take him to the island for him to become accustomed to the area which shall be his final home if you so wish to keep him.  In the meantime, he and Bebe will become reacquainted and the change in his surroundings will not be of such great impact as there are other wolves at Le Rue he can play with and learn from.  I know you would want to take him home immediately petite but, it will be 2 to 3 more months before he is able to remain on the island without others of his kind. He has already taken on the behaviour of a lone wolf as his pack has stopped escorting him to Lions Court’s estate grounds. No doubt they do not comprehend his obsession with Bebe or with the beautiful human that mended his broken leg.

-Stops writing, imagining the impact this e-mail will have on mon imp. Reaching for the sunshine that brightens even the darkest of nights, one of the first portraits of mon petite Satin Rain Thomas de Lioncourt. Smiles as a decision is made-

Non, I will not send this, she deserves to hear it directly from me and not through an e-mail.

I woke to find her relatively calm and desperately trying to keep something from me, her normal playfulness and lack of self control not giving way to whatever she had planned for this night; which I must add, surprised me very much.  Still, she was determined to keep her thoughts to herself and determined to celebrate the birth of my mortal life whether I agreed to or not. 

It has been over two centuries from such event though you would not know it from what I have become. Aged by years though forever young by the kiss of the Dark Gift; powerful beyond any other of my kind and, immortalized further by my own writings and much known escapades. I am no longer that which my face initially shows; I am not the naiveté of the 20+ year old whose visage has been forever frozen in time since the night he became immortal. I am so much more and now, she wanted to celebrate my mortal beginnings.

Leave it to mon cara to find the a way to surprise me beyond what I had expected she would.  She must have been planning non stop behind my back, never letting any part of her devious plan grace her thoughts; not even while she slept. Shoes, she kept busy thinking of shoes yet, she managed to find a theater celebrating the anniversaire of their opening on this same night.  She somehow managed to have the others follow suit, those whose minds are an open book to me and are in my service solely because they are trusted to keep me informed of all that revolves around me while I rest.  I believe it is time to re-bond them to me. – Chuckles -  

But of all she did, nothing had prepared me for this night; she had asked me if I was happy and I truly was and as the minutes wore on, I realized that she wanted to do more.

 “If…. I were to say tonight I can guarantee to make you extremely happy would you let me? And no hocus pocus from my parents or Aosoth, would you believe me?” 

Without a doubt of course I would. May and I have had a checkered past, many nights of separations due to our arguments, moments when both thought of nothing better than killing the other, this maddening passion fueled by not being by each other’s side, be it in our minds or in the flesh; still it is this need for the joy she brings me that leads to those infuriating thoughts. Happiness, she brings this to my immortal life each time I rise, no day is like the other and yet this night she managed to bring me such joy I will not soon forget.  Like I have said in previous writings, immortals do not measure time as mortals do, neither do we forget the events of our existence; we only choose to ignore them or the pain or joy they bring can lock us forever in a never ending dream or nightmare. 

I, have sired quite a number of fledglings; some should have never been given the dark gift but yet I brought them to me.   Being the arrogant son of a bitch that I am, I may or may not agree with that statement tomorrow but for today, for this night and for the time being, I can say this is how I feel. Not that I can see my existence without them, watched them have lived out their mortal lives until death found them but, that they would have been protected from me and what at one time or another I caused them to suffer.  I can no longer see myself without them in my future years but I do on occasion regret what they have experienced because of me.  I love them all, each one and for various reasons and May knows this; she has accepted my love for them and has learned to accept that for them there is nothing I would not do or give up, even her. Let me add here that she is as important to me as they are but our relationship is different; she is my mate by our own choosing and desire, they are my fledglings because of my selfish doing alone, even Nicolas, who asked for the gift.  But that was then and this is now lest memories lead me back through those dark corridors I so long ago left behind since the night I had to return from my long slumber to save my child Louis.

Louis, Louis the personification of the beauty of death. He strolls in casually, feet shuffling lightly on the pavement as gentleman death approaches, whistling a tune to warn of his arrival to those too late to run for him.  His suffering brought me back from torpor so many years ago, brought me back to find him charred as charcoal lying in a coffin dead for all intensive purposes to the word. My blood and that of David and Merrique spilling over the briquette corpse in hopes of returning him to us, returning our beautiful death.

David, my beloved David, my last perfect creation. My mortal friend, reborn in to a new body and forever now my immortal child, he has been my wisdom during moments I lacked it; he has been my caregiver, my conscience and the reason I am once again within this flesh, my flesh.  Always the old Englishman, always the Talamasca superior general, astute, the wisdom of a life well lived in the body of a young man now and forever immortal, our eternal scholar.

Nicolas, My Nikky, my forever love, my mortal life blended with my immortality.  Nothing have I ever regretted more than not being by his side when he needed me most. Now given the opportunity to have him with me once again as he rediscovers immortality and steps out of the black fog which had followed him in to it; he is reborn. He is my selfishness, my love and my hope. He along with Aria and the others are what have kept me going, my hope (a word I rarely use) for my future years.  

And this, this was what she brought to me as my gift on this special day. She brought me my children.  A secret so well kept that not even the presence of vampires was detected by me before I opened the suites’ connecting doors. Doors which opened me to them again, to the face of Louis standing there asking if I was looking for something in particular.  The surprise rocking me back as each came in to sight but none prepared me for Nicolas.  I held Aria close to me, believing she alone had made the trip from Auvergne, not wanting to let go of her or remove my eyes from her for fear the voice I had heard was the rousing out of my dreams.  My dreams of Nicolas one day joining me in the new World; joining me outside of their beautiful estate in France; leaving behind his nightmares and boarding his first jet.  The desire and dream of one day having all of them together not in times of tragedy but in times of joy, of celebration or just simple conversation outside of Europe; outside of the comfort zones we all call France.   Without my fear that I would lose any of them, lose Nicolas again but more importantly, Aria losing him and what they have found with each other; and here he stood in front of me in a hotel room in Vancouver of all places.

There we all stood dressed in our fancy tuxedos, smiling, palpable to the touch and ready for a night like no other; a night out we could have never had before. A night out to the symphony, a night similar to those I had shared with one or another of them on previous years but never all together. Never being able to hold all of them to me by just turning from one to the other; never all of us witnessing the joy and love in Aria’s eyes as she watched her beloved step out of the intimacy their immaculate home has been providing since the moment she managed to bring back my child from his final death. 

To watch them all hunt together, -smiles proudly- to see the fine movements of their muscles as they inched closer to their prey, each with a style unlike the other, the shadows that followed each as their fangs elongated and, the embrace each gave their catch. Oh how proud I was, how proud I am, how I stopped myself from taking my own just to watch them, just to savoure as they flourished and fed. As they savoured the exquisite blood of their victims, as they savoured the wickedness in their blood –fangs descend- what a proud father, proud sire, and proud love. My fledglings, my children, my blood, not soon will this night be forgotten, not soon will I stop reliving these moments. Not soon will I forget that on the anniversaire of my mortal life, my immortal life was given to me once again by means of a trip to Vancouver.

She outdid herself with this gift and, in the background of my dreams a piano and a violin can be heard playing in unison and in love… mon Nicolas et mon Aria.

~Lestat de Lioncourt

We have had nights being apart, even full moon nights when continents have separated us, but tonight was different.  Tonight she was with me, we were together and her latest request was the culprit that kept us apart.

Tonight we ran with the soon to be newlyweds, the Masters, Harley and Cheyenne. The lovely couple that invited us in to their lives and love as they take steps to join their paths and lives. May fell in love with them the moment she heard their story and I, I believe I have as well. 

How can I explain what these two mortals, supernaturals as they may be, feel for each other? I can only compare it to what I feel for my own mate, polar opposites of us as they may be.  But, he loves her unconditionally, every nuance down to the last pore of her and she, she feels the same for him.

Their love is pure, the only need it holds is the need to be close to the other as if they were nothing until the moment they became one. Two halves searching the world until they found each other, two halves perfectly matched, perfectly mated, a perfect blend of equal love.

Few will ever know this type of love and tonight the pain that flowed from each as we parted to hunt on different sides of the woods was one I have only felt when May suspended our tie. A pain so searing I thought my world would end if she were not to return to me.  A pain which taught us that now that our love has mated, without the other we are incomplete.

Her howls call to me and like a magnet seeking its mate my love responds to her every time, and tonight I had to fight the urge to join her; tonight I realized just how much she means to me.

Tomorrow Harley will wed his beautiful Cheyenne but tonight both will come to know that without their other half, without the one that calls to them as a magnet seeking iron, without the other, they are incomplete; a lonely wolf howling at the moon.

Lestat de Lioncourt

I held her to me as we slept, her custom of climbing on to my chest always a welcomed waking experience. No matter how big our bed, she always climbs; habit she picked up from laying with me in my coffin. Oh I am not complaining I rather enjoy the warmth of her body on my chest; she is such a little warm thing. –Grins-  The contrast our bodies’ temperatures make, that sweet contrast keeps me locked in rest until my hunger calls me to rise.

Each night I wake, the sun making its destined descent and her in my arms, always in my arms or under me. If she was mortal I fear I would crush her but she is not and I am yet to figure out how she manages that wonderful maneuver.  Kisses to my chest, kisses to my back and then she joins me in my dreams. –Rubs fore head-  No night is ever the same, no excuse from the past can I use to distance myself from her. I have never understood women, I find them complicated and at times uninterestingly boring but her, she has managed to keep my attention even while we rest. Mon Dieu was my life so different when I only dealt with the men and the occasional woman?

Do I crave my adventures of the past? Yes of course at times I do but even here she has managed to make those desires so intermittent that I do not desire them over her.  The things she does to me, I so enjoy her changes when we make love. You did know her demons have needs did you not? Non? Well they do and as lovers each knows exactly how to use their gifts to bring us to our pleassures.  As well as that tongue that splits in the most opportune moments. Mon Dieu I am getting myself excited when all I wanted was to tell you about the other night. –Chuckles-   Memnoch once wanted me for his Prince while I declined most readily no matter what he tried and no matter what you may have heard, I did decline his offer but, I must say I am glad he never offered her or the vampire before you would be something other than what I am now.  But back to the other night actually it was the other afternoon.

One of the musically inclined at Lion’s Court decided to pick at the strings of a guitare, the mélodie pulling me from my day-time slumber just as Sybelle’s appasionata brought me back from the pits of torpor those many years ago. It was Francisco Tárrega’s Capricho Arabe, the mélodie reaching me far deep in to my slumber and I felt my body move, not as it would to protect me during my day rest but in recognition of the melodic symphony.  Soon after the mélodie changed and again it was Tarrega’s work, it was Lágrima.  I  woke to tears streaming from my eyes, my thoughts all going to my child Nicolas, my breath caught and I carefully pulled May closer and gently lay her on our bed before making my way to the light-proof paneled window.  The weight of the sun’s rays on my body replaced by the light caress of the guitare below and the memories of Nicolas. My Nikki playing his violin maniacally, our drunken discussions in that shambled room those many nights ago, oh how we would go on throughout the day and night discussing the Savage Garden.  How he would enjoy this song.

Each pluck of those strings pulled me closer to the window even though I had no need as I can clearly pick up the faintest sound miles away if I so choose to listen to it; all except my child, my second born.   Of all my gifts the one I will never posses is to hear the thoughts of those I have sired, it is the curse of giving the dark gift.  The intense silence from one you had shared your world with. –Sighs-  Lágrima, tears. It was what flowed down my face as the mélodie continued even after the change to Adelita. I could not help myself any longer and made my way to the piano, my fingers caressing the keys as I tried to block all thoughts and lost myself to the song.  I do not know how long I was there, time for immortals is not measured by the tick of clocks you see, but it was long enough for May to wake, probably consumed by my dark mood and recollections of my past.

In those brief moments I had traveled a lifetime of memories; to Nicolas, Aria and my child Satin all playing with my memories as my fingers kissed the ivory, pounded the ivory as maniacally as Nicolas had his violin until Armand took his hands. –Closes eyes- The hands I so enjoy kissing each time I see him; I should have been there for him. I should not have left him, I should not have left Satin.  She is but a mortal child raised by the monsters that we all are. Mon petite imp, our angel and salvation, the final piece of our humanity that still remains pure within all our monstrous hearts. She will marry soon, she will have children and possibly leave us all, she is mortal after all. But she will live on in the souls of her progenies, her children and grandchildren and we, as the evil beings we are will continue to watch her and Driscoll’s lineage go on for all eternity as we remain unchanged.  

I wonder if Nicolas would have wanted that chance, the opportunity to father children possibly with one just like Aria.  I should have turned her for him. I should have again given him more than what I have. Yes, I did send her the means to bring him back from his final death but once they fell in love I should not have let him break their mental tie. It should have been I who sired her or another of our line.  Now this paper dyes red just as the keys of my piano did that late afternoon when May found me wallowing in my past.  Gently she asked me if I missed him? Lovingly she tried to ease my pain by saying it might all change for the better soon.  As I pushed myself away from the piano and she climbed on to my lap, I could not help but wish her words to be prophetic.  An immortal life cut off from those you love is not a life a creature such as I can lead without thinking of the pyres or a prolonged torpor.  As we made love I pushed myself up to her and pushed those thoughts as far from me as I could at least until the next time the memories flood me with their ennui. 

~Lestat de Lioncourt

Je t’aime … Pour vous mes amours, Nicolas, Aria, Satin et mon bien-aimé Aosoth

Sonnet 17

"I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, 
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. 
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, 
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

in which there is no I or you
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand
so intimate that when you fall asleep it is my eyes that close."

Pablo Neruda 

Sitting in my library knowing the time is upon me that I share the story behind Nicolas’ end and his second coming, I pulled the box containing Aria's journals; the ones she sent once the entire deed was done. 

I opened the cover as my hand traveled over the ink so eloquently decorating the pages that hold her memories.  Her journal, memories of those moments she had lived those days; before she had became one of us dancing in the Savage Garden, holders of the Dark Gift, immortal blood drinking Gods to those who wanted to be like us. –Sighs- 

I became the silent observer as her words described all she had done, I sat back on my comfortable leather chaise and let myself live those moments as if I had experienced them myself. 

My name is Aria, Aria Dawn Chance. I was born in Paris, France in a house dating back to the 18th Century. All of my life, I've been a witch, born into the craft dating back for my family since the 10th Century AD. I won't get into all that history right now; I'd rather focus on the last 3 years. Up until then, I lived in Florida, not too far from the fabled Night Island. I say fabled because I never had any interest in finding out if Vampires really resided there are not. My Grandmother found out the hard way never to trust one. Oh, I didn't mention that I know Vampires exist? Well, they do so be careful where you wander at night. 

Then the dreams came, strange dreams where I would see a man standing in front of a pyre. Looking to another man in the shadows the only thing visible were his eyes. I'll never forget the color; honey colored gold was the only way to describe them. The two men stood a few feet apart, no words just stood there. Then, the one with his back to the fire turned and steadily walked into the pyre. I screamed at him, pleaded from a distance but he never once turned. He just walked into the inferno like it was rain. Over my own screaming, I couldn't hear if he screamed or even uttered a sound. The feeling I had was so horrible, this was a mistake, it should have never happened. After waking up that first night, nothing was the same. I had overwhelming urges that couldn't be ignored. The house in Paris all of a sudden needed my attention, needed the basement redecorated. Why in the world would I want to do that? The cost alone would be horrific, yet the urge, none, dare I say, obsession wouldn't go away and I started seeing visions of what it would look like. After 3 weeks of torment and visions, I gave in and went home to Paris. 

Once there the visions didn't stop. Not until the basement looked like a completely separate entity apart from the house itself. When it was all done, I was looking at an 18th Century apartment. Walls, furniture, everything was duplicated to that era. It was beautifully done but I had no recollection of why I did this theme, not even any memories of wanting to do this. Nevertheless, it was done. 

Then came the journal. 

The journal came by way of delivery service, no return label, no sender, nothing. I tried tracking it but nothing ever came up. It was like it didn't exist; yet, I had it in my hands. I did the only thing one can do in this situation; I read it. It told the most amazing stories of Vampires, Paris, Theatres, and their lives that spanned over 100 years. Not much for a vampire but I got the distinct impression I was to focus on one in particular, his name was Nicolas, the Maestro. 

They, the other Vampires, called him insane. I continued to read the journal, but then the dreams came. Sensuous dreams of this Vampire, I was sure it was he. He called me by name and was always reaching out to me. The dreams went on and on, night after night. 2 weeks later, I received another package. This one was so strange I almost didn't keep it. It was an urn filled with ashes. Someone’s ashes, but whose? I was beginning to get a bit shaken from all that had been happening. One night I went to bed with the express thought of leaving for Florida the next day. Then that morning, I woke up to find my grandmother’s Spell book, lying on the bed next to me. It was open to a specific page, a page on resurrecting the dead. Not zombies but the dead who should never have been dead. It wasn’t their time or something cosmic went wrong and needed to be fixed. Looking at it I closed the book with a move that said, I'm done. I got up and ready to go home to Florida. 

While getting ready to call the airline I heard this male voice, very distinctly call my name, and the words "Help Me" came to follow. I sat down on the sofa, looking at the spell book, the urn and the journal, thinking how insane this was. I really needed to go have a check-up. Deep down though, I think I knew there was some truth to all of this. Therefore, later that night, like my grandmother’s Spell book said, I went to the oldest cemetery in Paris. Doing exactly what she had written decades before, even drawing my own blood, I performed a Resurrection Spell on the ashes in the urn. After waiting for a few moments, nothing happened. Nothing! 

Time went on and nothing, so I waited for an hour to see and nothing came, the world didn't stop spinning and no dead came back to life. Therefore, I gathered up everything and went home. I felt so foolish I never told anyone about that night . . . .  until I wrote it here. 

Then 6 months later, I'm sitting at an outside cafe, enjoying the last few days of summer when a man approached me. Being in the early evening when the sun was down but not dark yet, I wasn't that worried. Until ......... 

 “Good evening Aria; I thought it was time we finally met chere. I must say you do look quite ravishing.” 

- The tears fell freely down my cheeks and on to my white starched shirt, the contrast of white and red slowly bringing me back to the present. The smile that influenced my memories now fading as I closed the journal and, prepared myself for what was yet to come; the end of one of my many secrets.  Letting her into a part of me I had kept away from her, the love I had for Nicolas, the pain of his death all to the moment he appeared before Aria and now the love they had for each other. 

Would I need to give the reasons as to why I had kept his reawakening a secret, why my visits to France and those late night calls that involved more than coven business? Would she understand that I needed more than just to continue the contact with my child? That I needed to be aware of him lest he decided to dance himself into the pyre again? That this time I would be present and not allow it, that my guilt over what he had become, the lack of my understanding of the darkness that had surrounded him, now it all called me into action. 

My friend, the one I’d had on those long ago nights when life in Auvergne had been nothing more than the passing of tormenting days until he entered my life and played that damned violin… the one I still hear when I close my eyes each day and hold her tightly to me. 

~Lestat