Not unfamiliar, the strange icy plunge Lestat feels he has taken. The way it feels like he is drifting in it.
If he could vanish, it might be the thing he chooses to do. Go somewhere else, try to fix this sense of dislocation, soul slipped wrong in his ribcage—coward behaviour, admittedly. Louis looks to him and he looks back, unsure what his own expression is doing (tear-streaked, clearly, more open and receptive than he realises, some begging quality to it though he would not know what he is asking for, exactly) and he stays and listens. No choice there.
A breath in. Reaches out, likewise ashes his cigarette as it burns itself right down.
"I told him," he says, lifting his gaze once more, "to tell you I love you. I didn't know what was happening, Louis. But in the end, that's all I wanted you to know."
In the desperate hope it might save him. As it saved him in the church one night, and then never again.
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If he could vanish, it might be the thing he chooses to do. Go somewhere else, try to fix this sense of dislocation, soul slipped wrong in his ribcage—coward behaviour, admittedly. Louis looks to him and he looks back, unsure what his own expression is doing (tear-streaked, clearly, more open and receptive than he realises, some begging quality to it though he would not know what he is asking for, exactly) and he stays and listens. No choice there.
A breath in. Reaches out, likewise ashes his cigarette as it burns itself right down.
"I told him," he says, lifting his gaze once more, "to tell you I love you. I didn't know what was happening, Louis. But in the end, that's all I wanted you to know."
In the desperate hope it might save him. As it saved him in the church one night, and then never again.